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(precept <mb (practice 


iii. 


Q0p of Jttfrobucfion 

HE years 1849 and 1850 mark the begin¬ 
ning of a new era in the theological 
and literary history of the Reformed 
Church in the United States. In 1849 
appeared the first volume of the Mercersburg Re¬ 
view, edited by Dr. John W. Nevin. It was the 
organ for the theological and philosophical sys¬ 
tem, developed in the bosom of our Church, un¬ 
der the leadership of Rauch, Nevin, and Schaff. 
It gained a national reputation, and its articles 
compelled the recognition and attention of Euro¬ 
pean theologians. The Church of Switzerland 
and the Palatinate, having gained a conscious¬ 
ness of its own on the soil of the New World, sent 
back, with some degree of pardonable pride, the 
fruits of its scholarship to the Fatherland. 

In 1850, the Guardian was founded and edited 
by Dr. Henry Harbaugh. It was none the less 
valuable than the Review because of its more 
practical purpose. It professed to be “devoted 
to the social, literary, and religious interests of 
Young Men and Eadies.” Though published 
under Reformed auspices, it was by no means a 
bigoted denominational magazine. Yet its arti¬ 
cles were pervaded by the broad and irenical 








iv. 


(precept anb (prdcftee 


spirit, which is characteristic of the Reformed 
Church. The Guardian, on account of its Eng¬ 
lish style, its religious and moral tone, and its 
practical instructions, ranked among the first 
periodicals of its day. It circulated not only 
through a large proportion of the English fami¬ 
lies of the Reformed Church, but it was widely 
read in other churches. It became a valuable aid 
to the pastor in educating the people in the gen¬ 
eral work of the Church, in developing a denom¬ 
inational consciousness, and in cultivating a taste 
for pure literature. 

After Dr. Harbaugh was elected Professor of 
Systematic Theology in the Theological Semi¬ 
nary of the Reformed Church, then located at 
Mercersburg, he felt constrained to resign the 
editorship of the Guardian. An important posi¬ 
tion was now to be filled. The man was fortu¬ 
nately at hand, who was worthy to wield Har- 
baugh’s pen and take charge of his work. The 
mantle of the first editor could have fallen upon 
no one more in sympathy with the work of the 
Guardian and more akin to the spirit of Dr. Har¬ 
baugh, than upon his friend and admirer, Dr. 
Benjamin Bausman. The prosperity of the paper, 
the extent of its circulation, and the character of 
its matter proved the wisdom of the choice of the 
second editor. It was in this capacity that Dr. 
Bausman published, in the form of editorials, the 




3ttfrobucftoit 


V. 


articles which now appear in this book, entitled, 
“ Precept and Practice.” 

They were written for the past generation, 
with no thought of a future collection in book 
form. They were clear, direct, and popular then. 
After having read the manuscript, and re¬ 
vived the impressions made upon me as a 
boy, I am convinced that age has not diminished 
their vigor. Their ‘ ‘ natural force has not abated. ’ ’ 
They read as if they came red-hot from the 
author’s brain, and were spoken directly to the 
generation before him. It is another proof that 
philosophies may change, theologies may wax 
old, but the practical principles of Christianity 
and morality are the same yesterday, today, and 
forever. 

A word about the author may aid the reader 
to appreciate his production. He was prepared, 
by nature and grace, to write to the members of 
the Reformed Church and to “ Young Men and 
Ladies.” In the article on “ Farmer Boys” he 
says, “ I do esteem it a life-long blessing to have 
been born and nursed in a farm-house; to have 
rollicked in hay-mows and barnyards ; to have 
hunted rabbits and nuts in autumn ; to have kept 
the flocks as David did, and held the plow as did 
Elisha.” On the farm he came into touch with 
nature and the “ common man ;” in a Christian 
home, through a godly parentage, he was 




vi. 


(precept anb (practice 


brought up in the nurture and admonition of the 
Eord. In his youth, he entered the institutions 
of the Reformed Church at Mercersburg. Both 
the College and the Seminary were then in their 
palmy days. The buildings and equipments were 
not extensive, nor were the endowments large. 
But there were intellectual and spiritual giants 
in the professorial chairs. Students could not 
escape the vigorous thought of the lectures of 
Nevin, nor the extensive historical knowledge of 
Schaff. They imbibed the spirit of these men to 
such a degree, that Mercersburg students of that 
period may be known by their thought and style 
of composition even today. 

Dr. Bausman’s life, after graduation from the 
Theological Seminary, prepared him for his 
future literary career. He was associated as a 
friend and co-laborer with the foremost men of 
the denomination. He traveled through Europe, 
Egypt, and the Holy Eand. He became thor¬ 
oughly versed in the Reformed history of Switzer¬ 
land and Germany. He lived through an im¬ 
portant epoch of our American history. He had 
faith in the educational system of religion. 
He was, and still is, a master in the art of 
catechising. He has been a successful and faith¬ 
ful pastor. He is in sympathy with everything 
that is truly human. This life of study, travel, 
and practical work prepared him to speak with 




3nfrobucfton 


vii. 


authority and power to the young people of our 
denomination. 

The historian of the future may select, out of 
the Reformed Church, one man whom he will 
honor with the title of Theologian ; another, with 
that of Philosopher; a third, with that of His¬ 
torian. After a survey of the Church of the 
Nineteenth Century, its men and its work, he 
will doubtless call Dr. Bausman the Pastor of the 
Reformed Church of that period. Whether he 
wrote his “Sinai and Zion,” his articles for the 
Guardian and the Hausfreund, or whether he 
stands in his pulpit, by the bedside of the sick, 
and in the homes of his members, or whether his 
eye follows the progress of the City of Reading, 
that the building of churches may keep pace with 
the erection of homes ; in all these positions and 
offices, he has the spirit of a pastor, a shepherd 
and bishop of souls. 

The book, “Precept and Practice,” is pecu¬ 
liarly adapted to the Reformed Church. Each 
denomination should have its own men, tried and 
true, to speak to its members, especially to the 
young. Without having the spirit of intolerance 
and sectarianism, we nevertheless believe that 
each church has a life, a genius, and character¬ 
istics, which are its own by reason of its previous 
history and constituency. Those, who direct the 
thinking and the life of a denomination through 




viii. 


(precept ctnb (practice 


its literature, should be thoroughly imbued with 
its spirit. Many publications, addressed to Chris¬ 
tians, are spread broadcast over our land. They 
profess to be undenominational and adapted to all 
classes of people. Their purpose is good, and 
their teachings are commendable, yet a hasty pe¬ 
rusal will convince one that they are not pervaded 
by the religious principles and practices of our 
own Church. They may be in perfect accord 
with the interpretation of Christian life in some 
churches. 

‘ ‘ Precept and Practice ’ ’ contains broad and 
liberal views on baptism, Christian nurture, con¬ 
firmation, the Lord’s Supper and practical living. 
These holy ordinances and sacred precepts are not 
set forth in a dogmatic spirit. They are treated 
with the simple and devout spirit of one, who has 
experienced their blessed benefits. They must be, 
as interpreted by the author, acceptable to every 
part of the Church. Pastors need not fear that 
their teaching and training will be neutralized by 
such doctrines. Young people will recognize the 
instructions, which they have received from in¬ 
fancy in the church of their fathers. Yet so 
vigorous and devout is its ideal of life, that it 
can not be called denominational. It must appeal 
to the conscience and the reason of Christian men 
and women generally. It has some of the irenic 
and liberal breath of the Heidelberg Catechism. 




3nfrobucftott 


ix. 


It was a happy thought, on the part of the 
Sunday-school Board, to preserve and publish 
these editorials of the Guardian in book form. It 
will be an inspiration to teacher and scholar, parent 
and child, pastor and people. A feeling of regret 
comes over us, with the thought that the Guardian 
is no longer published. The successor of Dr. 
Bausman, as its editor, was Professor Joseph H. 
Dubbs, D.D., teacher of history in Franklin and 
Marshall College. He was thoroughly equipped 
for his work, and kept the high standard of literary 
excellence of his predecessors. Yet the circum¬ 
stances of the times had changed. Many other 
periodicals, of inferior quality, flooded the market. 
After the very excellent work of its last editor, 
Dr. Henry M. Kieffer, the publication of the 
Guardian was discontinued. Nothing, since, has 
taken its place, and its absence in the homes of 
the people has been a serious loss. 

We trust that “ Precept and Practice” will go 
forth on a mission of education, admonition and 
inspiration. May it also revive and perpetuate 
the interest in, and regard of the Reformed people 
for the literature of our Church. May it aid in 
raising up a new generation of writers, who will 
emulate the spirit and style of the editors of the 
Guardian. 

George W. Richards. 

Lancaster , Pa ., Nov. 26 , ipoz. 




Contents xi. 


Introduction . iii.-ix. 

I. 

The Anointed of the Lord .... 1-12 

II. 

The First Commandment with 

Promise. 13-21 

III. 

The Children of the Lord’s Supper 22-31 

IV. 

Counsel to Church Members . . . 3 2_ 44 

V. 

A Good Confession. 45 - 4 8 

VI. 

Family Festivals. 49'59 

VII. 

Saintly Service. 60-71 

VIII. 

Our Providential Calling .... 7 2 *77 

IX. 

Manly Bearing and Manners . . 78-85 

X. 

Farmer Boys. 86-93 










xii. Content® 

XI. 

Practice Makes Perfect. 94-101 

XII. 

The Books we Read.102-113 

XIII. 

The Coated Tongue.114-131 

XIV. 

A Strong Tower .132-137 

XV. 

Soft Answers.138-147 

XVI. 

Knowledge is Power.148-154 

XVII. 

The Snake in the Glass.155-171 

XVIII. 

A Mother’s Blessing.172-178 

XIX. 

The Fly and the Lie .179-184 

XX. 

The Voice of Conscience.185-194 

XXI. 

The Friendship of Children . . . 195-201 

XXII. 

Garnished Sepulchres.202-213 

XXIII. 

Light at Evening Time .214-223 














£$e (ftnotnfeb of f0e fsorb 


Qtnoinfeb of f()e Bori> 


ONE 

HERE are two classes of Christians: 
i. Those who have been baptized 
but not confirmed ; 2. Those who 
have been baptized and confirmed. 
Of the former I wish to speak. 
Comparatively few persons—few educated pas¬ 
tors indeed—can tell one where precisely a 
baptized person stands. Is he in the Church, 
or out of the Church ; a child of God, or a child 
of the devil ; a saint, or a sinner ? So many 
vague, shadowy notions are held about the 
relation of baptized persons to the Church and 
to Christ, that it is exceedingly difficult for 
many such to ascertain their duties, claims and 
privileges. There seems to be a nervous hesi¬ 
tation to say outright what these are or are 
not. On the one hand, the Scriptures teach 
that * ‘ as many of you as have been baptized 
into Christ, have put on Christ. ” Gal. 3:27. 
But, say perhaps some of us, if we hold this 
we will make too much of baptism, and bring 








2 


(precept aitb (practice 

our orthodoxy into suspicion with good people. 
Indeed, the old trouble of the chief priests 
seems evermore to repeat itself, when Christ 
asked them, “ The baptism of John, whence 
was it ? from heaven or from men ? And they 
reasoned with themselves, saying : If we shall 
say from heaven, he will say unto us, why did 
ye not then believe him ? But if we say of 
men, we fear the people.” 

Baptized persons are members of the Church. 
This is taught in the passage already cited from 
Gal. 3:27. It is taught in the 74th question 
of the Heidelberg Catechism ; by baptism, as 
a sign of the covenant (children) are incor¬ 
porated into the Christian Church. They 
enjoy all the ordinances of the Church with 
the confirmed members, save that of the Holy 
Communion. The Greek, or Russian Church, 
confirms children when they are baptized ; and 
from their confirmation gives them the Com¬ 
munion. 

Baptized persons are Christians. The word 
means anointed ones—those who are partakers 
of Christ’s anointing (Heid. Catechism, Quest. 
32). Christ received His anointing by the 
Holy Ghost at the Jordan, through His bap¬ 
tism. This anointing of the Holy Ghost we 




(g-notnfeb of f$e £orb 


3 


receive at our baptism. “ Repent and be bap¬ 
tized every one of you, in the name of Jesus 
Christ, for the remission of sins, and ye shall 
receive the gift of the Holy Ghost . ’ ’ Acts 2:38. 
These baptized persons belong to the anointed 
ones. 

Baptized persons are committed to a life of 
faith and godliness, no less than those who 
have been confirmed. In their name and 
stead, most solemn vows were made on life’s 
threshold. Such were made for you and me, 
dear reader. We can never thank God suf¬ 
ficiently for giving us pious parents, who had 
a tender concern for our spiritual welfare from 
our birth. Most solemn thoughts had they 
concerning us, when we lay as helpless, de¬ 
pendent sucklings on a mother’s breast, who, 
in tearful prayers, would breathe her blessings 
over us. ‘ ‘ What manner of child shall this 
be? good or evil, gracious or godless?” On 
their trembling arms they brought us to the 
man of God, to give us to Him in holy bap¬ 
tism. But ere the holy sacrament was ad¬ 
ministered they had to assume vows for you 
and me. “ Dost thou in the name of this child 
renounce the devil, with all his ways and 
works, the world, with its vain pomp and 




4 


(precept artb (practice 

glory, and the flesh, with all its sinful desires ?’ ’ 
And they had to answer : u I do.” 

Then, after repeating the Apostles’ Creed, 
the minister asks them whether they believe 
this. And they say: “I believe.” Whether 
they will, that you should be baptized in this 
faith? Answer: u I will.” 

Then, “Dost thou solemnly promise to 
bring up this child in the nurture and admoni¬ 
tion of the Tord, and in the doctrines and 
duties of our holy religion?” Answer: “I 
do.” Then you received your name, in con¬ 
nection with the holy sacrament of baptism. 
That was a kind act on the part of your 
parents. They meant it well with you. They 
wished, by giving you thus to God, to secure 
to you the salvation of your soul. It was a 
solemn act—this taking upon themselves these 
solemn promises and vows—for whose fulfill¬ 
ment God will hold them and you till the 
judgment day. Since, then, you are no longer 
your own, your only comfort in life and death 
is that you are not your own, but belong to 
your faithful Saviour, Jesus Christ (Heid. Cate¬ 
chism, Quest, i). You have thereby been 
separated from the wicked. Or as our Cate¬ 
chism has it (Quest. 74): You “ are distin - 




@Uomfeb of f0e £orb 


5 


guished from the children of infidels, as was 
done in the Old Testament by circumcision, 
instead of which baptism was instituted in the 
New Testament. ’ ’ 

Baptized persons enjoy many gracious privi¬ 
leges. They are in the covenant and Church 
of God. To them “ pertaineth the adoption” 
and the promises. They are in the Ark of 
Safety, voyaging heavenward over the billowy 
sea of a wicked world. To them God is a 
refuge in distress, a very present help in time 
of trouble. With them Christ will be alway, 
even to the end of the world. To them the 
language applies: “Who shall lay anything 
to the charge of God’s elect? It is God that 
justifieth.” 

Baptized persons owe a solemn duty to their 
parents. It is no light matter to vow in 
another’s stead and stand pledged for his con¬ 
duct and character. A friend asks me for a 
favor. He desires to secure the patronage and 
credit of the community. But no one knows, 
and, therefore, no one trusts him. Out of 
kindness I certify to his good character, and 
commend him as a reliable man. I even 
guarantee for his good conduct. For my sake 
the people trust him. After many thousands 




6 


(prcccpf anb (practice 


of dollars are entrusted to him, he pockets 
other people’s money and proves a defaulter. 
He got his credit from my backing. How do 
you think I must feel before the community 
whom I have unintentionally helped to deceive 
and rob ? 

Your parents have backed you at your bap¬ 
tism, vowed and promised before God in your 
stead, with the prayerful hope, that, by means 
of a pious training, you would never deceive 
them. “ Surely we can trust our child,” they 
thought. u In due time this dear one will 
assume these solemn vows in confirmation and 
relieve us from these baptismal obligations. n 
How must they feel, if you refuse to do this! 
With the kindest intentions they vowed and 
prayed for you. Now you disavow what they 
have vowed. You despise and trample upon 
their holiest intentions. How, think you, 
must they feel, when they see you stand in the 
way of sinners and sit in the seat of the scorn¬ 
ful ! How will they feel, when they will have 
to give an account of their baptismal engage¬ 
ments for you at the bar of God ! How will 
they feel, when they find that one to whom 




(^notnfeb of f$e fLorb 


7 


they have given birth and baptism is from 
choice a child of Satan and an heir of per¬ 
dition ! 

You owe a duty to your pastor and congre¬ 
gation. Although unconfirmed you are a 
member of it. Many unconfirmed persons 
think otherwise. They claim to be outsiders, 
on whom the Church has no claim. “We 
have never consented to any vows made for 
us,” they say. “Confirmed persons break 
their vows and dishonor the Church by a 
wicked life, not we.” Upon you, too, dear 
friends, are the vows of God, by an order and 
ordinance of the Church. Your rejection of 
your baptismal privileges and grace is as great 
a sin as the relapse of a confirmed member. 

Such, according to the distinct teachings of 
the Scriptures, is the relation of unconfirmed, 
baptized persons to the Church. They are 
members of it. Hence it is their privilege to 
claim her grace and blessing. They are Chris¬ 
tians. They may be faithful or unfaithful, 
but Christian still, who have been made par¬ 
takers of Christ’s anointing. If they are un¬ 
faithful to their high calling, and neglect and 
abuse the “ unction” they have received from 
the Holy One, so much the worse for them. 




8 


(precept anb (practice 


I speak to the young—to the baptized young. 
Claim and improve your privileges. You have 
been given to God in the name of the Holy 
Trinity. You are His children and He is your 
Father. And “if children, then heirs, heirs 
of God and joint heirs with Christ.” How 
foolish for the son of a wealthy father to act 
so low and wicked that the kind parent finds 
him unfit to be one of his heirs ; he may leave 
his property to his grandchildren or friends, 
but not to the son who has brought dishonor 
upon his name ! More foolish is it for a bap¬ 
tized child of our heavenly Father to live 
wickedly, away from God and His Church, and 
thereby lose his inheritance to eternal life. 

You are a member of the Church. Hold to 
the congregation within whose bounds you are 
living. Attend devoutly all the public services 
of the sanctuary. Pay your share to the sup¬ 
port of the Gospel. Lead a godly life. You 
are committed to this. Your love and respect 
for your parents, the fear of offending God, and 
the desire to enjoy His favor forever ought to 
incite you to this. Your misconduct brings no 
less dishonor upon yourself than that of con¬ 
firmed does upon them. It is as much your 
duty to pray and attend church as theirs. If 




(ftnoinfeb of f$e feorb 


9 


you act wickedly, you break solemn vows. 
You are not an outsider. Claim your rights, 
privileges and benefits as a church member. 
You have been planted into the Master’s vine¬ 
yard—a tree of His own planting. Work and 
worship therein. Bring forth fruit meet for 
repentance. Be not a cumberer of the ground, 
else God will cut you down. You have a great 
advantage over the uncovenanted children of 
the world. You will gain immensely and eter¬ 
nally by making good use of it. You will lose 
all that is worth having, for this world and for 
the world to come, by neglecting so great a 
salvation. 

Learn and labor in the Sunday-school. As 
soon as you are fifteen years old attend instruc¬ 
tions with your pastor. Study the catechism. 
Study it prayerfully and well. Present your¬ 
self for confirmation. Your parents and spon¬ 
sors promised to train you up for that. It 
forms the completion of your baptism. In this 
solemn rite the minister of Christ asks you : 

u Dost thou now in the presence of God and 
this congregation renew the solemn promise 
and vow made in your name at your baptism ? 
Dost thou ratify and confirm the same , and 
acknowledge thyself bound to believe and do 




IO 


(precept attb (practice 


all those things which your parents then under - 
took for you?” Your answer is : “Ido.” 

You need the communion of the Lord’s Sup¬ 
per. You are just entering upon the earnest 
life of man and womanhood. In your more 
innocent childhood you needed less grace of 
this kind. But now comes the storm. The 
burden and heat of the day must be borne. 
Sorrows, temptations and responsible duties 
must be met. Without often partaking of the 
Lord’s Supper you can not meet them with 
comfort and success. You need grace and 
virtue, such as are only found in this holy feast 
of Christ. You need life, which you receive 
by eating the flesh and drinking the blood of 
God’s eternal Son. Without Him you have 
no life in you. Your vows need frequent re¬ 
newals at the Holy Supper. Since you are a 
partaker of His anointing, you must confess 
His name, and you confess it in a most solemn 
way at the Lord’s table. You must present 
yourself “ a living sacrifice of thankfulness to 
Him,” and here in commemorating the sacri¬ 
fice of our blessed Saviour you do it by a devout 
penitent communion. 

Do not defer your confirmation. Life is 
uncertain. At best it is short. Eternity is 




£§t (^.noittfeb of t$e £orb 


II 


long. There remains much for you to do. 
Begin soon to do it. Do it earnestly, prayer¬ 
fully, perseveringly. God is good and gracious 
to His children. Satan is a hard and cruel 
master. Christ is mild, gentle and compas¬ 
sionate. The Evil One is pitiless, evermore 
seeking whom he may devour. Heaven is the 
abode of the pure and the blessed. The way 
thither is narrow and toilsome. Christ trod it, 
and all His followers must do the same. Hell 
is the region of the lost. The road thither is 
broad, the gate wide, and many there be that 
go in thereat. Beware of this broad road. 
Shun this wide gate. You are a Christian. 
Strive to be a good one. Honor your high 
calling. You are an heir. Be earnestly en¬ 
gaged in fitting yourself for a happy use of 
your immortal inheritance. Beware of falling 
from the grace given you. You are highly 
favored. Your fall will, therefore, be the 
deeper. So was it with Capernaum, so often 
blessed by the miracles and mighty works of 
Christ. To heaven had it been exalted; to 
hell was it thrust down (Luke 10:15). “To 
whomsoever much is given of him shall be 
much required.” 




12 


precept Anb (practice 


Seek counsel from your pastor. He is your 
friend. He will take you by the hand and 
help to lead you over dark and dangerous 
places, if such you have. Live for Christ. 
Cleave to Him. In Him you are strong; out 
of Him you are weak and forever lost. 




Siref Commdnbmenf trnffl (promtee J 3 


Jffrerf Commanbmenf 
t»tf6 (fkomtee 

TWO Xl 

‘ ‘ The eye that mocketh at his father, and despiseth to 
obey his mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it out, 
and the young eagles shall eat it.”—Proverbs 30:17. 

“ Children, obe} T your parents in the Lord ; for this is 
right. Honor thy father and mother, which is the first 
commandment with promise, that it may be well with 
thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth.”—Ephe¬ 
sians 5:1-3. 


N the lower eastern slope of the 
Valley of Jehosophat are several 
monuments or tombs. One pur¬ 
ports to be the tomb of Absolom, 
the fair, favored, frail son of David. 
Around it lies a heap of loose stones. The 
heap grows larger every year. As the Turks 
pass the tomb they pelt it with stones to show 
their abhorrence of the son who disobeyed and 
rebelled against his father. In this way these 
stones have been, and still are, brought hither. 

During the Seven Years’ War, the son of a 
poor farmer, named Kurzhagen, served as a 
common soldier in the German army. In the 







14 


(precept anb (practice 


small village of Parchim he was born, and there 
his parents lived and died. The son was a 
faithful, affectionate child ; a brave soldier and 
a true Christian. In due time he was promoted 
for his valor, honored with the order of Knight¬ 
hood and made General of a division. At the 
height of his prosperity he returned with his 
army from the war—returned with much glory. 
Ashe approached his native village, his humble, 
godly parents, clad in plain, home-spun 
farmers’ clothing, awaited him in the market 
place. As the son saw his dear old parents 
among the village throng, he leaped from his 
gray war-horse, embraced and kissed them in 
the presence of his soldiers and officers. From 
that day they had to live with him and eat 
with him at his table. On a certain occasion, 
one of his officers sneeringly remarked that it 
was improper for common farmers to eat at the 
same table with Knights. To which Kurz- 
hagen bravely replied : “ How can I help but 
gratefully honor the first benefactors of my 
life ? Before I became a Knight I was a child. ” 
This incident came to the ears of General 
Von Ziethen, the highest officer of the army. 
Soon thereafter Kurzhagen gave a dinner to 
all the officers of the garrison. The plain old 




Str®f Commdnbment t»tf$ (promtae '5 

parents asked their son to permit their absence 
at the table, as they would feel embarassed 
among so many great folks. At the table Von 
Ziethen asked the son: “ Where are your 
worthy parents ? Let them at once come to 
the table ; by no means let my presence keep 
them away.” 

Nay, more ; Von Ziethen himself went to 
their room and brought them to the feast; 
heartily grasped the old people’s hands and set 
the one to his right hand and one to his left at 
the table. Then, taking a glass of wine in 
hand, the great chief arose and said : “ Meine 
Herren, auf das Wohl dieser wurdigen Alten, 
der braven Eltern eines braven und verdienst- 
vollen Sohnes, der es beweiszt, dasz ein dank- 
barer Sohn mehr werth ist, als ein hochmiith- 
iger Rittmeister.” (My friends, to the health 
(well-being) of these worthy old people, the 
brave parents of a brave and meritorious son, 
who shows that a grateful son is worth more 
than a haughty Knight). 

Once Kurzhagen was invited to dine with 
Frederick the Great. The King asked his 
guest from what house (noble family) he was 
descended. “From none, may it please your 
Majesty,’ ’ he replied. “ My parents are merely 




i6 


(precept cmb (practice 


plain country people, and I would not ex^ 
change them for any other parents in the 
world.” 

“That is nobly spoken,” the great King 
said. “Woe to him who is little enough to 
be ashamed of his parents and relatives ; he is 
not a noble man, and can never be one.” 

Now and then I hear of young people who 
have acquired the disgraceful notoriety of 
being unkind to their parents and to their face 
rudely refuse to obey them. I have often won¬ 
dered how everybody comes to know all about 
their bad behavior so soon. And equally sur¬ 
prising it is how unanimously all good-thinking 
people predict the future misery of such. And 
no less astonishing is it to learn how their pre¬ 
dictions are fulfilled. Toss of character, loss 
of the credit, confidence, and respect of others 
always come upon the son or daughter who 
sins against parents. And usually such ill- 
mannered young people are the most tempted 
to filial unkindness at an age when their habits 
ought to improve, and their riper judgment 
ought to teach them better. If there is any of 
this leaven of wickedness in a young person, 
it is most likely to show itself at the period 
when the boy is about passing over into a 




Jtret Commanbtnenf ix>it§ (promise l 7 


young man, and the girl into a young lady. 
This period of transition is one of the most 
critical in life. Then the youth passes the 
threshold of a new world. New associates 
cluster around one; and pleasures equally new 
are offered. Pleasures with poisonous ingre¬ 
dients are pressed upon us by false friends. 
The tempter comes in the disguise of inno¬ 
cence. Social sins are varnished with the 
semblance of innocent amusements. The 
young man, recently a boy, is seen among the 
group loitering around the tobacco shop and 
the rum hole. The young lady, lately a girl, 
giddily saunters along the street, late at night, 
with her silly companions. Bad men exchange 
glances and smiles with her, and see that she 
is pleased with the exchange. The parents 
entreat, rebuke, exhort. Alas! to no effect. 

Yes, once they could command and enforce 
their rules with the rod. Now, no longer. 
The boy has grown into a young man ; the 
girl into a young lady. He is as tall and strong 
as father ; she is, physically, a match for 
mother. Surely for the back of the young 
gentleman or lady, though a fool, the rod can 
not be intended ; or, if intended, can not be 




i8 


(precepf <mb (prdcfte* 


used. With a sneer, the advice of kind parents 
is spurned. How many a parent’s heart bleeds 
at sight of such disobedience. 

Just here the young make a new start in 
life. They step over into a new sphere of ex¬ 
perience. To fit them for it, the Church pro¬ 
vides for their instruction in the Scriptures and 
their confirmation, just before they pass the 
boundary. They renew their baptismal vows. 
They enlist as active soldiers in the army of 
Christ. Yet, right on the threshold, they are 
misled by the siren voice of sin. Nor parent 
nor pastor will they heed. The fifth com¬ 
mandment, to them, is a dead letter. Other 
counselors they prefer. Them they will fol¬ 
low. What this must lead to the wisest of men 
clearly teaches : “ Rejoice, O young man in 
thy youth ; and let thy heart cheer thee in the 
days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of 
thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes ; but 
know thou, that for all of these things God 
will bring thee into judgment.” (Ecclesiastes 

II: 9). 

The biography of many a good person clearly 
shows how God’s blessing follows those who 
are kind and obedient to their parents. The 
promise in the commandment is a true one. 




Stfif Commanbmenf mt§ (promise '9 


Many years ago a certain young man was a 
student in Jefferson College, western Pennsyl¬ 
vania. He enjoyed his studies and strove to 
prepare himself for usefulness in life. Mean¬ 
while his father was unfortunate. He became 
embarrassed in business. How should he keep 
his home and raise his family of small children ? 
His son at college had the prospect of acquiring 
a thorough education, which he prized very 
highly; yet his love for his parents enabled 
him to sacrifice this. He left college, returned 
home, taught school and made himself other¬ 
wise useful, that he might assist his father to 
pay his debts, keep his home and raise his 
children. Although without a college diploma, 
in the course of time, he became Governor of 
Pennsylvania. After his death, when this 
incident of his life was published, a certain 
Christian gentleman, who had never voted for 
him, remarked to me : “I have much more 
respect for Governor Geary than I ever had 
before. A man who treats his parents as he 
did I must respect and admire.” This friend 
may have seen in the Governor’s political 
career incidents which he had to condemn, but 
the self-denying kindness to his father was the 
great redeeming feature of his character and 




20 


(precept ftitb (practice 


life, which, in the eyes of thinking people, 
covered a multitude of political differences and 
even infirmities. 

Many years ago a certain young man gradu¬ 
ated in the Theological Seminary of the Re¬ 
formed Church, then at York, Pa. He became 
pastor of a large and influential Reformed con¬ 
gregation. Meanwhile his father died, leaving 
a widow and a large family of children. The 
young pastor left his pleasant field of labor, 
where he was well supported, that he, as the 
oldest brother, might take a father’s place aside 
of his widowed mother. For six years he de¬ 
voted himself to teaching, and assisted his 
mother to support her family and educate her 
children. But for his faithfulness to his 
mother, it is doubtful whether his three 
brothers could have graduated in College and 
the Seminary, and become useful ministers of 
the Gospel. 

A few months ago I visited a certain family, 
in humble life, yet in comfortable circum¬ 
stances. I inquired about the son. ‘ ‘ He is 
still a very kind boy to us,” the mother said. 
“ There is hardly a day but what he comes to 
see us, and always tries to do and say some¬ 
thing to please us.” 




21 


Sttef Commcmbtnenf t*rif0 (protmee 

This boy now fills a prominent position, 
enjoys the confidence of the community, gets 
a salary of between $3,000 and $4,000, without 
being spoiled by it, or becoming too proud to 
love his parents. Although often pressed with 
work, he finds time to walk half a dozen 
squares every day, and spend half an hour 
with his parents. Does not all this prove how 
true is the first commandment with promise ? 
(Exodus 20:12). 




22 


(precept 4ttb (practice 


THREE 


£0tft>ren of 

BorVe ^upper 


G ""““^|REAT and tender is the joy of an 
earnest Christian pastor in being 
wmmmmgaK ^ permitted to lead precious souls to 



the Lamb of God. Great, too, 
his affectionate anxiety that they 


should remain with Him after he has led them 
thither. And no season of the year is so ex¬ 
pressively appropriate for their confirmation 
as that of the budding spring. In the spring 
time of their natural life ; in the spring time, 
too, of their spiritual life, when the new life 
of grace is stirring within them, and new joys 
and hopes are budding, it is touchingly beauti¬ 
ful in the spring of the year to kneel in solemn 
consecration at the altar of the Church. 

But when the vow has been made, and the 
first Holy Communion received, the earnest 
disciples eagerly ask, u What shall we do 
now?” For, vaguely to advise them to pray 
and lead a godly life and attend church will 
not suffice. “What shall I do next?” said 






C^tfbren of f$e Eorb’e puppet 


23 


such an one to me after his first communion. 
“ I have joined the Church in good faith, and 
now wish to live and labor for Christ and His 
cause. I wish to rent a pew and bring my 
friends along to church. I wish to do well, 
and scarcely know what or how. Please give 
me your advice.” 

Form a regular strict habit of worship. 
Have your fixed hour and place for morning 
and evening prayer. If possible, never be ab¬ 
sent from any devotional meetings of your con¬ 
gregation. Attend these with the desire and 
determination to worship / Help to sing and 
to pray. Try your utmost to follow with 
your mind and heart the prayers of the con¬ 
gregation. Our acts of worship cannot be 
performed as circumstances or inclination 
may dictate. Make up your mind, once for 
all, that if you are to succeed in the divine 
life, you must make everything—friends, busi¬ 
ness, temporal interest—bend to the claims of 
worship. 

Continue to search the Scriptures. If pos¬ 
sible, read a passage every day. Read it with 
prayerful attention, and try to remember what 
you read. Better read five or ten verses and 




24 


(precept <mb (practice 


remember their contents, than ten chapters 
and remember nothing. 

Be true to the congregation to which you 
belong. There is your place. Do not make 
it a practice to attend other churches, when 
your own has religious services. In others the 
Gospel may be preached with equal purity. 
But you owe it to your pastor, to your congre¬ 
gation, and to yourself to be in the proper 
place. Guard against running after crack 
preachers, no matter how loudly they may 
crack. God is poorly honored and few souls 
saved by that sort of cracking. Shun sensa¬ 
tional revivalists. The heat they raise is in 
most cases like the crackling of thorns beneath 
a pot, or like the sudden flush of stove heat 
produced by shavings. Spiritual vagrants, 
like other vagrants, are too lazy or too lame 
for steady, ordinary work, and usually end in 
rags and ruin. I don’t wish you to become a 
bigot. But you feel more at home in your 
father’s family—enjoy the bed, table, and so¬ 
ciety of his home more than those of any other 
family; you would, on no account, live in 
other people’s homes, as long as he consents to 
keep you in his. You have no unkind feel¬ 
ings to such other people. But however 




Cfltfbren of f$e Eorb’e puppet 2 5 


wealthy and pious they may be, their home 
can never be to you what your own is. And 
you would never think of dividing your affec¬ 
tions between your parents and them. Neither 
can you, as a conscientious Christian, have 
your religious home in several congregations 
at the same time. Your pastor may be less 
eloquent than some others. But you are not 
to go to church to worship the preacher. 
Listening to the sermon is not an act of wor¬ 
ship. Singing and praying is. This is the 
chief thing in a religious service. Your 
church may not be as attractive as some others. 
But if Christ be there, as He will be, where 
people meet in His name, it has as great at¬ 
tractions as the cathedral of Milan. 

Contribute your influence to cultivate social 
Christian intercourse in your congregation. 
You need society, but not such as you may 
formerly have had. Make yourself easily ac¬ 
cessible. Speak pleasantly to your fellow 
church members, even if they do not know 
you. Help them to become acquainted with 
each other. Select God’s people for your as¬ 
sociates. Join hands and heart with them in 
acts of well doing. 




26 


(precept anb (practice 


Give regularly a fixed portion of your earn¬ 
ings or income to the Lord. If possible, give 
one-tenth of it. Give it to good objects—to 
Missions, the Education of Young Men for the 
Ministry, to the Orphans, to the poor. Use 
diligently your time and strength in work, 
that you may make an honest living. Work 
with energy. Try to excel in your occupation. 
“ Diligent in business, fervent in spirit, serv¬ 
ing the Lord,” is the Apostle’s advice. Make 
the best of it, but make it honestly, and make 
it for God. Cultivate a habit of thrift. You 
can and ought to be economical without being 
stingy. Try and save something for yourself, 
but don’t save it all. Give part of it to God. 
If you do not, you will become covetous— 
“covetousness is idolatry.” “Labor with 
your hands the thing which is good, that you 
may have to give to him that needeth.” So 
writes Paul to the Ephesians. And Paul is 
good authority on this subject; for he did the 
same thing at tent making. All work is not 
“good.” Some kinds of work are dishonest. 
Robbers and thieves often have hard work, but 
it does no good, neither to themselves nor to 
others. Trickful trade, or efforts in any way 
to defraud others ; taking whole hours from 




Cfltfbten of f0e feorb’e puppet 


27 


your employers by idleness, and yet demand¬ 
ing full wages ; this is not the u thing that is 
good.” Engage in work which will make 
yourself useful to others, and be of service to 
yourself, and redound to the glory of God. 

Increase your gifts to God as your income 
increases. Give as God prospers you. Try 
and do everything conscientiously. When the 
path of duty is not plain, pray to God for light. 
Often call to mind God’s omniscience. Never 
forget that the all-seeing Eye is upon you, 
that the recording angel takes down every idle 
word you speak, every sinful thought or de¬ 
sire you cherish, every wrong act you commit, 
whether men know it or not. Always try to 
live as in the presence of God, and you will 
live right in the sight of your fellowmen. 

Shun evil of every kind. Shun it as com¬ 
ing from Satan. Watch and pray that you 
may not be misled by him. For he often 
comes to us like an angel of light. Shun the 
first approach of sin. Refuse with unbending 
determination to utter the first oath , to tell 
the first wilful lie, to indulge in any vice for 
the first time, to neglect prayer, church or 
communion for the first time. Resist begin¬ 
nings. If you give Satan the little finger, he 




28 


(precept dub practice 


will take the whole hand. Shun bad people 
of every kind—bad men and bad women. 
Bad men ! Oh, ye young men of God, inex¬ 
perienced and unsuspecting, trust not their 
company. Shun godless flirts, silly, light- 
minded butterflies, without earnest piety and 
prayer. Above all flee with horror from the 
low, impure ‘‘strange woman.” “Her lips 
drop as an honeycomb, and her mouth is 
smoother than oil. Her feet go down to death, 
her steps take hold on hell.” Choose the 
virtuous for your associates, ladies who love 
God, and delight in His work and worship. 
Their society will be to you as a light shining 
in a dark place, and their cheerful piety as the 
gentle voice of a guardian angel. 

I admonish young female disciples of Christ 
to flee from young men of known dissolute 
habits. Spurn with pious disdain the proffered 
attentions of the rowdy. Let not his jewelry 
and costly apparel blind you to his vices. 
Shun his society. Keep him at a distance. 
Trust no one who trifles with the seventh com¬ 
mandment. His presence is perilous. After 
inhaling a certain quantity of oxygen, a per¬ 
son can easily set fire to a newly extinguished 
lampwick. The lungs of an unchaste man 





Cfltfbreit of f$e Sorb’s puppet 


29 


are inflated with the oxygen of Hell. It re¬ 
kindles the newly extinguished sinful desires 
of renewed hearts. Beware of his breath. It 
is deadly. 

Have the courage to select your society. 
Choose the virtuous for your companions, who 
are in their place at church and at the com¬ 
munion table. Ivet your smiles cheer them in 
works of manly piety. Inspire them with a 
godly chivalry. L,et the influence of your 
gentle, pure, loving life inspire them with 
reverence for the graces of regenerated woman¬ 
hood. Teach them to love and sincerely ad¬ 
mire female character. Thereby you can in¬ 
cite them to do and dare much for Christ. 
You will throw a wall of restraint against 
temptation around them, against which Satan 
will hurl his fiery darts in vain. 

In short—“ never walk in the counsel of the 
ungodly, nor stand in the way of sinners, nor 
sit in the seat of the scornful.” The spirit of 
the scoffer is the spirit of the devil. Walk in 
the way of Christ, stand in the ranks of God’s 
people, and having done all, stand. Sit in 
the heavenly places in Christ Jesus. 

Seek and make yourself work for Christ. 
Do not wait until His work seeks you. Do 




30 


Qprecepf anb (practice 


what your heart and hand find to do, and they 
can find much. Do it now. Do it with your 
might. Christ has need of you. His Church 
and immortal souls claim your services. 
“ Fall in. Fall in, men,” says the officer in 
trying to rally his soldiers for the battle. 
“Fall in, fall in,” is the call of duty to you. 
Keep in the ranks. Be attentive to the com¬ 
mand of your Deader, and obey Him promptly. 
Be true to your pastor. Make him your con¬ 
fidant. Into his heart pour your griefs. You 
can trust him. He will never betray your 
confidence. If you fall, don’t give up in de¬ 
spair, but go to him for advice. Be careful 
not to wound his feelings. His burdens are 
heavy. Help him with your kindness and 
prayer to bear them. Greet him cordially 
when you meet him. He may not always 
recognize you at first, as he may have so many 
to remember. Greet him still, and he will 
thereby learn sweetly to remember you. 

Give your entire sympathy to your pastor. 
You can not have two or half a dozen pastors 
as your spiritual advisers. As a rule, sick 
people have but one physician at a time to 
treat them. They never have an allopathic 
and a homeopathic doctor to attend them at the 




Cfltfbren of ifyc feorb’e puppet 


31 


same time. If they call a doctor in, he will 
tell them : ‘ * If I am to treat this case, you 
must give me the sole charge of it. To treat 
it allopathically and homeopathically at the 
same time will kill the patient.” 

If your pastor is to treat you successfully, 
you must give him sole charge of your soul. 
After he faithfully and prayerfully instructs 
you, tells you what to believe, and what to do, 
and solemnly presents you to Christ in con¬ 
firmation, you must not give your ear to 
others, who will say that all your earnest 
study of God’s Word, and all your repenting 
and praying is vain, unless you submit to their 
process of conversion. Herein it is likewise 
true that “ no man can serve two masters.” 

I plead in the name of many pastors, who 
laid their trembling hands of benediction on 
the heads of their catechumens. Dear chil¬ 
dren, our hearts go after you in tenderest af¬ 
fection. Fain would we follow you through 
every step and change of earth’s uncertain life, 
as with our prayers we do follow you. May 
Christ, the great and “Good Shepherd,” keep 
you all unto everlasting life. 




32 


(J)tecepf attb (practice 


Coimee? fo £$uvc$ (lYlemfiere 

FOUR 


good Church member will strive 
in all respects to meet the rules and 
requirements of his congregation. 
Before he connects with it he should 
read its Constitution no less than 
its Catechism. What does his flock require of 
its members ? How much are they expected 
to pay for its support, and when ? What are 
their duties and privileges? If not called on, 
he will call on the proper person and pay 
according to his means his full share for this 
purpose. Every congregation has members of 
more or less means, who try to give as little as 
possible, and that little is given with a growl, 
while others, having far less, cheerfully give a 
large share. Such lean-spirited, miserly Chris¬ 
tians are a drawback to their flock, and at best 
very poor members. I know of poor servant 
girls, who have nothing but what they earn, 
giving $5.00 a year for their pastor’s support, 
and in the same flock are men worth from 







Cowneef to €$utc0 QttemSerB 


33 


$20,000 to $30,000, who give from $1.00 to 
$2.00. The poor girl is the better Christian 
and the more useful member of the two. 

Every living member, of right faith and 
views, will heartily support the Sunday-school. 
As a parent, teacher, or scholar with money, 
attendance, influence and prayers, such an one 
will encourage this important work. Surely 
he will support other good causes outside of 
his flock. Lay by in store weekly or monthly 
as God has prospered you. For none who has 
the spirit of Christ can feel indifferent about 
His cause throughout the world. Money is 
needed to educate ministers, support mis¬ 
sionaries. Orphans and the needy generally 
appeal to us for help. But the living member 
will work with his congregation and not out¬ 
side or against it. Some so-called pious zeal 
is simply zealous spite. Members who stub¬ 
bornly refuse to give anything to the channels 
of benevolence in their congregations, whilst 
they parade large gifts to various objects in an 
outside way, thereby weaken the flock and 
show an unchristian spirit. A good member 
liberally supports the cause of Christ in and 
outside of his congregation. But alway will 


3 




34 (precept ctnb (practice 

he first help those of his own household of 
faith. 

A good church member will strive to be in 
active sympathy with his pastor. Very often 
this humble personage is the worst abused man 
in his congregation ; and his bitterest abusers 
are some of his own members. Mr. A. freely 
speaks about his pastor’s shortcomings. He 
is too much on the street and too little in his 
study. Hence, not scholarly enough in his 
sermons. Mr. B. complains that he visits too 
little. Has not been at his house for six 
months. Mrs. C.’s tongue wags incessantly 
about a poor funeral sermon she once heard 
him preach for her sister-in-law’s granddaugh¬ 
ter. “ We wanted him to sing : 

‘ Shall we meet beyond the river ?’ 

at her grave, and, don’t you think, instead of 
that he told us to sing: 

‘ Jesus ! Lover of my soul!” 

Such is her complaint. And so on to the 
end of the chapter. 

Now, it is very likely that the pastor has his 
failings which no one deplores more than he. 
But he has also a conscience, of which he is 




Couneef fo £$utc$ QttemBm 


35 


the sole keeper. No human pastor can, not 
even our divine Master could, satisfy the indi¬ 
vidual demands of everybody. Very likely 
the members of every flock can find something 
in the conduct of their pastor which might be 
improved, as he doubtless can find much in the 
life of his members which should make them 
blush. 

I hold that every earnest church member 
will neither be exacting nor uncharitable to 
his pastor. He will put the best possible con¬ 
struction upon all his actions. He will treat 
him with forbearance and charity. Remember 
that he has a heavy burden to bear and is often 
embarrassed and worried by the care of souls, 
some of whom seem determined to serve the 
devil and be lost, in spite of their shepherd’s 
care and prayer. The good member will have 
regard for his heavy burdens and pray for and 
sympathize with him. 

Emerson says : 1 ‘ Good manners are made 
up of petty sacrifices. ’ ’ This law holds in re¬ 
ligious as well as in business and social life. 
A faithful pastor sacrifices much for his people 
—health, sleep, feeling, money, often the com¬ 
fort of his family. He may be reviled, but he 
reviles not again. He treats, labors and prays 




36 


(precept anb (practice 

for his enemies as faithfully as for his friends. 
When other people are insulted they usually 
drop all intercourse with the offenders. The 
pastor must cherish kindly feelings to those 
who may despitefully use him. Is he not en¬ 
titled to the most cordial sympathy of his flock 
in his difficult work ? His supposed actual 
shortcomings are overlooked by the good 
church member. If his visits are too seldom or 
too frequent, his sermons too profound or too 
practical, too dull or too directly pointed, he 
will sacrifice his individual claims, preference 
and taste. Hold up his hands as did Aaron and 
Hur to Moses. Give him your sympathy and 
your prayers. Help him. He has a heavy 
burden to bear. If you wish to be kind to him, 
do it now. If you defer or neglect it, he will 
soon be gone, will never pastorally pass your 
way again. He that weakens the influence of 
the leader weakens the army. The pastor is 
the leader. Disparaging and picking at him 
will damage the whole congregation and defeat 
his efforts in its behalf. 

Honor and speak well of your congregation 
among those that are without. There are some 
silly people who take pleasure in uncovering 
the sores of their congregation to the people of 




Couneef to C$urc$ (tttemBm 


37 


the world ; who, like vultures, are blind to the 
beautiful things, and feed only upon the vile 
and putrid objects within their reach. Some, 
like the dragon fly, only feed upon sores. 
Little clashings, family or social frictions, dis¬ 
affection among members, financial troubles— 
these form the staple of conversation among 
such mischievous persons. Now, congrega¬ 
tions, like individuals, are human and imper¬ 
fect. They are subject to faults. And those 
claiming membership can damage them seri¬ 
ously by divulging and magnifying matters 
which should be kept a secret among the mem¬ 
bers. Good members of a congregation, like 
good members of a family, will be careful not 
to uncover its weaknesses, but do their utmost 
to overcome and cure them. A faithful mem¬ 
ber will weep and pray in silence over all the 
blemishes of his church, and speak modestly 
of her excellencies. 

To boast and bluster about one’s congrega¬ 
tion betrays a lack of piety and good sense. 
But truthfully and in the right place to speak 
well of it, and adorn it with his pious conduct, 
is an undoubted Christian duty. Persons going 
about and noisily expressing their want of 
faith in the doctrines of their Church, finding 




38 


precept cmb (practice 


faults with its mode of worship, attending the 
services of other churches oftener than those of 
their own, on the plea that they feel more at 
home there, ought prayerfully to examine 
their motives for so doing. If they can not 
conscientiously believe in the doctrines of their 
own church, they ought in an orderly way to 
withdraw from it. If they go elsewhere in 
search of social stilts on which to lift them¬ 
selves above their natural elevation, or to be 
entertained by pulpit fireworks, unevangelical, 
sensational discourses and operatic perform¬ 
ances in the name of praise, they ought to fast 
and pray for deliverance from such an unchris¬ 
tian temptation. Children who rarely eat at 
their home table lose their home life and 
attachments. And members of a church eating 
at tables other but their own, lose all affection 
and relish for the fare of their spiritual home. 
Speak well of your church, its pastor, mem¬ 
bers, doctrines, and life ; if you can not con¬ 
scientiously do this, keep silent or leave it. A 
good member will always prefer the church of 
his choice. Without condemning others, he 
loves his the best. He feels more at home 
among its people and is more comforted by its 
services. 




Couneef fo C^utc^ (ttlemBete 


39 


“ Her sweet communion, solemn vows, 

Her hymns of sacred praise,” 

are dearer to him than those of any other com¬ 
munion. Only when his church is closed will 
he resort to other places of worship. Not only 
because he likes his own best, but on account 
of his influence. For he well knows that his 
attendance upon another church might soon 
be used annoyingly against his own pastor and 
congregation. 

A decorous and devout behavior in the house 
of God helps to give character and devotional 
attractiveness to a congregation. Some giddy 
young people act much more rudely than they 
imagine. In some churches such peep through 
the door, or come inside, to see whether a cer¬ 
tain friend is there. If not, they will go away 
again. A certain pastor, as he was in the act 
of announcing the hymn, seeing a young man 
step inside the door and look around for his 
girl, suddenly stopped and called out to him, 
“She is not here tonight.” Of course, all 
faces were at once turned toward the fellow. 
Thereafter the congregation was relieved of 
this nuisance. Certain rude persons of this 
sort rove from one church to another to see 
who is there. Did the solemn surroundings 




4 o 


(J)re«pf <mb (practice 


allow it, many a pastor could not avoid a 
hearty laugh at the ludicrous figure which 
they present. Trying to elongate the neck to 
the utmost stretch so as to look over other 
people’s heads and see whether a certain one 
sits in a certain pew. Turning now this way, 
now that, even during prayer; surveying this 
lady’s bonnet and that one’s shawl, and by thus 
gadding about annoying all in the neighbor¬ 
hood. How rude to misbehave thus in God’s 
house! While the congregation kneels in 
solemn prayer, some will whisper in conver¬ 
sation. Men put on their coats while the 
doxology is being sung. Said a certain Penn¬ 
sylvania pastor last winter, at the close of an 
evening service : “ While the congregation 
sings the doxology I will put on my overcoat,” 
His people understood the rebuke and there¬ 
after did not put on their overcoats until the 
benediction had been pronounced. 

Come to church in time. Enter devoutly 
and walk to your pew slowly. Never neglect 
to offer a short prayer as you take your seat. 
Have your own hymn book. Always turn to 
the hymn sung, and always help to sing it, if 
you possibly can. Never keep your seat 
during prayer. Always stand up or kneel as 




Coutteef to C$utc$ (UtmBere 


41 


the pastor and the custom of a congregation 
may direct. Fold your hands and shut your 
eyes during prayer, as you did when a child. 
Try and follow the minister and pray in his 
words. A year ago I worshipped in a sister 
church. During prayer about one-half of the 
congregation stood up, the other half kept 
their seats, leaning their heads forward on the 
backs of the pews. The lady members of two 
most prominent families of that church, the 
most prominent for their intelligence and 
piety, with their heads on the back of a pew, 
engaged in conversation during solemn prayer. 
They were noticed by many, who, by reason 
of their misconduct, were disturbed in’ their 
efforts to worship God. No one acting thus, 
however much he may pray, is a good member. 

Be an attentive hearer. Note the text and 
divisions of the sermon. Try and recall them 
during the service and after you return home. 
Always put something in the collection basket. 
If possible, put in more than a penny. Leave 
the church devoutly. Meditate at home upon 
what you have heard and sung, and do your 
best to practice it during the week. 

Take a warm interest in your fellow mem¬ 
bers. ‘ 1 Let brotherly love continue. ” “ Bear 




42 


(precept anb (practice 


ye one another’s burdens.” Some are in 
trouble. Speak kindly to them. Visit the 
sick. Be kind to the poor. Salute them. 
Speak to them whenever you meet them. 

The other morning I took an early walk. I 
met in all about fifty men. All carried their 
dinners in their kettles. Their hands and 
clothes were greasy. Some of them had to 
walk two miles to their work. Many of them 
were old men. Some gray-headed and totter¬ 
ing with age. I have great respect for a 
laboring man, who works hard to secure an 
honest living for himself and family. I bade 
every one of these men good morning. Every 
one bade me the same. Some whom I did not 
know mentioned my name. One old man 
returned my salutation by giving me two. 
“ Good morning, good morning, ” he said. And 
as he walked past me it seemed to me that, if 
he had said all that was in his heart, he would 
have added : “And I thank you for wishing 
such a poor, hard-working old man as me a 
good morning . 

These passing salutations on the street are 
seeming trifles, but often cheer an overbur¬ 
dened heart. Especially are poor, laboring 




Couneef fo CBurcB (WXemBere 


43 


people tempted to suspect that no one cares for 
them, because they have but little money and 
no nice clothing. I hold that a good Christian 
will go squares out of his way to grasp a dis¬ 
couraged fellow being by the hand and bid 
him God speed. 

The members of a church should do their 
utmost to cultivate a social feeling among the 
rich and poor. They should become ac¬ 
quainted with one another. When one is in 
trouble, the rest should stand by him. The 
tempted and weak should be taken by the hand 
and admonished ; the erring should be brought 
back ; the sick should be visited. Around the 
bereaved all should flock with condoling sym¬ 
pathy and help them to bury their dead. 

Some people’s religion consists of going to 
church on Sunday, paying their pew rent, and 
owning a lot in some cemetery where they ex¬ 
pect to be buried. They care for no one, pray 
for no one, help no one. 

“Whom none can love, whom none can thank, 
Creation’s blot, creation’s blank.’’ 

For aught that they do for others’ good, 
they might as well, nay better never have 
been born. 




44 


(precept anb (practice 


Move about and mingle with the people of 
your flock. Seek for the discouraged, the dis¬ 
appointed, for those struggling bravely against 
misfortune ; for the neglected, the suffering ; 
for the young and inexperienced. A smile, a 
greeting, a five minutes’ talk, a prayer in your 
closet for them will bring sunlight and cheer 
into their dreary life. A good church mem¬ 
ber must belong to some one church ; will in¬ 
form himself of the doctrines and rules of that 
church ; will devoutly take part in all its ordi¬ 
nations ; will work for Christ’s cause through 
that church ; will be in active sympathy with 
his pastor ; will honor his church among those 
that are without ; will be decorous and devout 
in the house of God ; will take a warm inter¬ 
est in his fellow members. 




(Boob Confeffton 


45 


Qt (Boob Confeffton 

FIVE 


E of Frederick the Great’s best 
generals was Hans Joachim von 
Zieten. I have his picture lying 
before me ; a tall, robust, grand 
old man, with a large, intellectual 
head, and a face furrowed by many a care. 
Although the victorious leader of armies, he 
was an humble soldier in the army of Christ, 
and bravely confessed his “ Captain ” before 
friend and foe. Sometimes his piety provoked 
the ridicule of his unbelieving fellow officers, 
and once, and only once of his King. It hap¬ 
pened this wise : He was often invited to his 
royal master’s table. On a certain com¬ 
munion day such an invitation came. Should 
he accept the invitation of the Great Freder¬ 
ick or that of his Saviour ? Between the two 
it was easy for him to decide. He devoutly 
partook of the holy Sacrament. The next 
time he appeared at the palace, the King, 
whose infidel tendencies were well known, 
made use of some profane expressions about 







46 


(precept emb (practice 


the holy communion of the Lord’s Supper; 
and the other guests laughed at the remarks 
made on the occasion. Zieten shook his gray 
head solemnly, stood up, saluted the King, 
and then said with a firm voice, “ Your 
Majesty well knows that in war I have never 
feared any danger, and everywhere have 
boldly risked my life for you and my country. 
But there is One above us who is greater than 
you or L—greater than all men ; He is the 
Saviour and Redeemer, who has died also for 
your Majesty, and has dearly bought us all 
with His own blood. This Holy One I can 
never allow to be mocked and insulted ; for on 
Him repose my faith, my comfort, and my 
hope in life and death. In the power of this 
faith your brave army has courageously fought 
and conquered. If your Majesty undermine 
this faith, you undermine at the same time 
the welfare of your state. I salute your 
Majesty.” This open confession of his Saviour 
by Zieten made a powerful impression on the 
king. He felt that he had done wrong in his 
attack on the faith of his general, and he was 
not ashamed to acknowledge it ! He gave his 
hand to Zeiten—his right hand, placing the 
left on the old man’s shoulder—and said, with 




(& (Boob Confeffton 


47 


emotion, “O, happy Zieten, how I wish I 
could also believe it! I have the greatest re¬ 
spect for you. This shall never happen to 
you again.” The king then rose from the 
table, dismissed his other guests, but said to 
Zieten, “Come with me into my cabinet.” 
What passed in that conference, with closed 
doors, between the great king and his greater 
general, no one has ever learned ; but this we 
know, that the Lord’s own words were verified 
to Zieten : ‘ ‘ Whosoever shall confess Me before 
men, Him will I confess before My Father 
which is in heaven.” 

In later life Frederick was less given to 
scoffing at sacred things. On a certain morn¬ 
ing, Herr von Pfuel, a pious friend of the 
king’s, called on him. At the door of the 
royal chamber, which stood a little ajar, he 
saw the old king on his knees in prayer. He 
reverently stepped back. When he afterward 
heard the king walking the room, Pfuel en¬ 
tered, and, as usual, was warmly welcomed. 

“ Pfuel,” said Frederick, “were you not at 
the door a while ago ? ” 

“ Yes, may it please your Majesty.” 

“ Did you see what I was doing? ” 

“Yes, with reverent joy.” 




48 (precept aitb (practice 

“ Indeed ? Do you pray, too, Pfuel ? Why 
did you feel joy ?” 

“ May it please your Majesty,” replied 
Pfuel, “from a child it has been my daily 
habit to engage in prayer, just as I was taught 
to do by my pious parents, and my heart was 
filled with joy, as I saw that my king kneeled 
before God in prayer.” 

“ Why,” continued the king, “had you not 
expected this of me ?” 

“ May it please your Majesty, some things I 
had heard of you led me not to expect this. ” 

u Ah,” he replied, with perceptible annoy¬ 
ance, “you are thinking of ridicule and wit; 
and therein you reason correctly. They are 
out of place for a praying man. But in my 
youth I saw much hypocrisy. This taught 
me a wrong habit. You are right; they are 
out of place. But, Pfuel, keep to daily 
prayer; I shall do it, too.” 




Suntfg ^etrftodfe 


49 


SIX 


‘ * I congratulate myself that my birth was when it was ; 
for I might have been bom in Greece, and yet not in 
Athens ; in Athens and yet not have been a Christian ; in 
the first century I might have been born a Christian, but 
have lived all my life as a sand digger, at Rome, in what 
are now called the Catacombs. But I was born into a 
richer world than Milton was, or than Jeremy Taylor, or 
than Newton ; for I was bom into a world that has be¬ 
come the more glorious for their having felt, and 
thought, and spoken in it. 

“And next after my early baptism in the name of 
Jesus Christ, I thank God for my mother-tongue’s hav¬ 
ing been English ; for by this I was made heir to the 
mind of Shakespeare ; owner of a key to the treasure 
house of Locke’s thought; one acquainted with Sir 
Thomas Browne’s worth and oddity; free of a church¬ 
sitting under Sir Isaac Barrow ; a fishing companion of 
Isaac Walton’s; and one to differ from Bishop Ken, and 
yet to love him.” 

T is all just so, save what he says 
about the English tongue. True 
for him it may have seemed or 
been a thankworthy boon to have 
had the English for his mother 
tongue. And for many another earnest soul 
it is a blessing equally precious to have the 



4 





50 


(precept anb (practice 


German for his mother tongue, whereby he is 
made heir to the mind of Luther, whose words 
are half-battles, and Goethe, and Schleier- 
macher, and a long list of men whose writings 
and lives are the thought granary from which 
the nations of the earth derive the seed for 
their systems and theories of thinking and 
living. 

The time and place of our birth have much 
to do in shaping our life and destiny. Had we 
been born 1900 years before instead of so many 
years after Christ, in China or Ethiopia instead 
of in America, what a world of difference it 
would have made in our characters and final 
destiny. This gives a two-fold meaning to 
one’s birth—the day and the land. It has much 
to do, too, with one’s second birth—the birth 
‘ ‘ by water and the spirit. ’ ’ Little hope would 
there have been to attain the last birth, had 
the first taken place 3500 years ago. How 
much we owe to our heavenly Father for bring¬ 
ing us into the world just when and where He 
did. 

“His decree, who form’d the earth, 

Fixed my first and second birth ; 

Parent’s native place and time— 

All appointed were by Him.” 




5i 


Our birthdays ought to be devoutly im¬ 
proved. Birthday festivals, if properly ob¬ 
served, bring both pleasure and profit to indi¬ 
viduals and families. The Germans have a 
custom to make the birthday of every child in 
the family more or less a festive day. The 
child is made to feel that God has in many 
ways been very kind and merciful to it. Some 
unusual delicacy on the table marks the day. 
In the family prayer the father tenderly thanks 
God for His goodness to the child and the 
parents, and all the children with sweet accord 
sing a hymn of praise. Thus the birthday 
cake and the birthday prayer ought always to 
go together. 

Very pleasant, too, is it for parents to cel¬ 
ebrate their birthdays. The children vie with 
each other to make it a day of great joy, and a 
spirit of gratitude and humble trust in God is 
made to pervade the whole family. To heighten 
the pleasure of it, some member of the family 
is overtaken with a pleasant surprise. Inno¬ 
cent deception is resorted to. A few friends 
are let into the secret. A festive board is 
spread by stealth. A group of friends are in¬ 
vited, whilst the chief actor of the scene is kept 
in happy ignorance. Never suspecting any 




52 


(precept anb (practice 


mischief, he returns home at the close of day, 
and enters his dwelling, where he is received 
with an ovation, amid the congratulations and 
mirthful shouts of his delighted friends. 

Full well I remember a certain happy vic¬ 
tim of these birthday delusions. A strong 
man, in bodily and mental build, a hard worker, 
and one who makes his work tell better than 
most men can. For successive years the trap 
has been set for him, and never does he dream 
of danger until he puts his foot into it. True, 
to succeed, the surprise comes u a day after 
the fair,” or a temporary discrepancy is dis¬ 
covered in his birthday record to throw him 
off his guard. Usually the amiable device 
succeeds. I can still see the ludicrous predica¬ 
ment of my friend on a certain evening. He 
fell a victim to an amiable conspiracy between 
his wife and children. It just happened that 
his daughter wished to visit an uncle that after¬ 
noon. Of course, this was a pretext to get her 
father out of the way for a few hours. Would 
he not take her thither ? Certainly he could 
leave his business that long. Of course, a kind 
father could not refuse such a reasonable re¬ 
quest. Thus she kept him away from home 
till the feast had been prepared and the guests 




Sdnufg 


53 


gathered in the parlor. As he opens the door 
of an adjoining room, the friends hasten around 
him and overpower him with their boisterous 
greetings. The strongest and most self-pos¬ 
sessed man feels his weakness at such a time. 
Reason is brought to a standstill. He does 
not know what to say ; indeed, if he did, he 
would have no chance to say it, for others will 
have all the say. It was a scene for a painter. 
There stood the victim in garments somewhat 
the worse for mud and wear, evidently not up 
to his choice for such an audience. His face 
at first bearing a thoughtful, half care-worn 
impression, he grasped the hands of a few with 
dignified civility. Suddenly the light flashed 
on his mind—sure enough, my birthday. The 
muscles of his face abruptly relax, every fur¬ 
row of care is smoothed and his ringing voice 
merrily blends with the shouts of laughter 
which the success of the surprise evokes. 

A certain widow lady, an example of godly 
matrons, a Tabitha in her flock, just stepping 
over into the evening of life, is returning from 
the weekly meeting. It happens to be a 
dreary, blustering winter night. And God, in 
His mysterious providence, has put a goodly 
share of dreary winter experience into her life. 




54 


(precept anb (practice 


With a cheerful, hopeful heart she has borne 
it all. Withal she has been a very helpful 
person to others. But going home that dreary 
night, after she had helped the congregation 
to sing and pray, her mind sadly traveled over 
some of her past experience, for it was on her 
birthday. Not the remotest suspicions had she 
as to what awaited her. Muttering something 
to her sister as she entered the front door, she 
at once proceeded to the parlor. An unex¬ 
pected group of friends startled her. The 
crowd, awaiting her entrance with breathless 
silence, dashed her. Was it a wonder that she 
for a moment shrank from such a sudden sur¬ 
prise and had to be brought into the festive 
hall where hosts of healthful greetings were 
showered upon her? In due time, leaning on 
the arm of her pastor, she was led to a sump¬ 
tuous table, which the kind hands and hearts 
of her friends had spread. How merrily she 
joined in all the pleasantries and enjoyments 
of the occasion, and forgot the dreary thoughts 
which haunted her on her homeward way. 

A certain pastor, whom I have reason to 
know well, has repeatedly been served in a 
similar way. He has reason to know how one 
suddenly loses his powers of speech when thus 




Sttntfg ^eettt>afe 


55 


pleasantly taken captive. Indeed, this is about 
the only first of April fooling that he ever could 
relish. This kind of deception is not in the 
least provoking, neither does a man feel like 
preaching against it. When one thinks over 
the days and weeks of labor, secret planning, 
and generous giving such a surprise costs, and 
how, in every heart toiling for it, a heaven of 
kind and loving feelings prompts the whole, he 
is willing for a few moments to become a 
laughable picture of awkward joy. And then 
to notice that the authors of it, the scores of 
busy friends, enjoy it fully as much as the vic¬ 
tim, gives the greater zest to the feast. 

It is well to mark each successive birthday 
with some appropriate ceremony. And if others 
help one to enjoy and improve it, they, too, 
become partakers of its blessings. Family an¬ 
niversaries are very enjoyable, whatever event 
they may commemorate. Anniversaries of 
marriage, silver weddings, golden weddings, 
form pleasant gatherings of the family tribe, 
where parents and children, and “ auld ac¬ 
quaintance,” meet and mingle pleasantly under 
the “vine and fig tree” of the old homestead. 

In a certain dining room I know of hangs a 
home-like, suggestive picture. Often have 




56 


(precept cmb Qf>r<acftce 


my eyes fallen on it while seated at table, and 
often has it preached to me of that “godliness 
with contentment” which is great gain. To 
be sure, it is not a costly oil painting, but only 
a chromo. Still, its very plainness makes the 
scene more impressive. 

It represents a couple on their fortieth mar¬ 
riage anniversary. They are hard-working 
people. Forty years ago today they were 
married in this humble home. Most likely 
then the home of the wife’s parents. They 
are seated at a plain table, in a plain, little 
room, the same room in which their wedding 
guests once met, and the same table at which 
they ate their marriage meal. At the same 
sides of the table the toil-worn man and wife 
are now seated, where they sat forty years be¬ 
fore. 

The make-up of the room is very homelike, 
their garments home-spun. In the open fire¬ 
place, over a crackling wood-fire, hangs a sim¬ 
mering, singing tea-kettle. On the mantel 
above it lie the large, old, well-worn Bible, 
hymn-book and prayer-book. Over these hangs 
a picture, perhaps of a departed parent. On 
the wall hangs a box, containing a tobacco- 
pouch, a clay pipe and a flask. The floor is 




57 


tmcarpeted, but without a stain. The white 
table cloth has just been washed ; it is used 
today for the first time since it came from 
under the smoothing iron. This is their for¬ 
tieth wedding feast. The wife is dressed in a 
plain white cap, a jacket and a petticoat, and 
a red cotton kerchief crossed around her neck. 
The father has his work-day clothes on, coarse, 
thicksoled, low shoes, woolen stockings, pants 
rolled up, no vest under the tightly buttoned, 
ill-fitting coat. His head is bald, his brow 
furrowed, his gray eye keen and clear. The 
table is spread but sparingly. Only one large, 
earthen dish in the centre of it, most likely 
containing potatoes. Before each lies a chunk 
of coarse bread, perhaps the so-called black 
bread. Two wooden spoons and the earthen 
dish are all the table furniture. He is seated 
on a coarse chest, she on a plain wooden chair. 
All morning he has been out at work, and she 
working no less in-doors. Meanwhile both 
have been thinking over their forty years of 
married life—over its joys and sorrows. Sons 
had been born to them ; dear boys whom they 
had hoped to keep and lean upon in their de¬ 
clining years. But God took them away. 
Many of their plans have failed. Many mer- 




58 


(precept ditb (practice 


cies came when least expected. Over every 
rough place in life’s journey God’s merciful 
hand had helped them. And now, after a 
thoughtful morning, they seat themselves to 
their fortieth marriage meal. They alone, 
none but their faithful housedog with them, a 
fat, well-fed poodle, doubtless a home pet, with 
a great bushy tail, and a kind, intelligent face, 
sits before the fire-place, and looks up with 
perceptible interest at the conduct of his 
friends, as though he understood it all. They 
are in the habit of praying over their meals, 
however meagre their fare. But today the old 
man’s heart softens. He thinks of their boys, 
their blessings and their burdens. He must 
have more than the usual short table prayer 
today. He stops his loving wife as she is about 
to partake of food. Lifting up his great, bony 
right hand, grasping a coarse cotton handker¬ 
chief, and holding a wooden spoon in the other, 
he raises his eyes heavenward and prays to the 
God and Keeper of his home. She, mean¬ 
while, folding her hands on her knees, and 
with closed eyes and bowed head, devoutly 
bends over the festive board. The whole is a 
picture of contented lowly life, in which the 
unfaded love of an aged couple to one another 






59 


and to their heavenly Father, are touchingly 
blended. A certain writer has put this into 
verse. As they are about to begin their frugal 
meal the old man says: 

“ Ay ; but wait, good wife, a minute, 

I have first a word to say : 

Do you know what today is ? 

Mother, ’tis our wedding day ! 

* ‘ Just as now we sat at supper 

When the guests had gone away ; 

You sat that side, I sat this side, 

Forty years ago today ! 

* ‘ Then what plans we laid together ; 

What brave things I meant to do ! 

Could we dream today would find us 
At this table—me and you ? 

“ Better so, no doubt—and yet I 
Sometimes think—I can not tell— 

Had our boys—ah, yes ! I know dear ; 

Yes, He doeth all things well. 

“Well, we’ve had our joys and sorrows ; 

Shared our smiles as well as tears; 

And—the best of all—I’ve had your 
Faithful love for forty years ! 

“ Poor we’ve been, but not forsaken ; 

Grief we’ve known, but never shame, 

‘ Father, for Thy endless mercies 
Still we bless Thy holy name ! ’ ” 




6o 


(precept dnb (practice 


^ertnce 

SEVEN 

HE world abounds in drones—dead¬ 
weights, who are of no particle of 
use to God or man, so far as the 
human eye can see. Very often 
those, who have had the best 
chance to become useful, are the most useless. 
The children of the wealthy often become the 
worthless men and women of a later genera¬ 
tion. A half-dozen young men arise before 
my mind at this writing. Each has a wealthy 
father. From early childhood the boys have 
had their “nest well feathered;” they were 
fed with golden spoons, metaphorically speak¬ 
ing. They never applied themselves closely 
to study, or to self-improvement of any sort. 
Refused to perform work of any kind, or pre¬ 
pare themselves for any kind of business. 
Why ? They were pampered with the idea of 
their parents’ inexhaustible wealth. Surely the 
sons of such parents can live without care and 
work, they thought. These half-dozen young 
men now daily disgrace their parents—parents 








^Scttnffg ^Settnce 


61 


who support the cause of Christ and enjoy its 
privileges. Some of them have been kept out 
of prison with their fathers’ money. Some of 
these fathers have died. Since then one of the 
fast young men committed suicide. Another 
has squandered his inheritance with riotous 
living. 

Among the daughters of the wealthy drones 
are equally abundant. Their life consists of 
eating, drinking, dressing—in short, of enjoy¬ 
ing themselves. Many a young lady prides 
herself in not being able to make a cup of 
coffee, or bake a loaf of bread. From morn¬ 
ing till night and night till morning, it is 
naught but vanity and vexation of spirit. Not 
all are thus, but by far too many. How useful 
they might be with their money, time, and 
influence! How useless they actually are! 
Their life is a blank. No one but their jewel¬ 
ers, tailors, and milliners will miss them when 
they die. 

In a religous journal on my table, I read of a 
number of poor young men and ladies laboring 
to acquire an education in a western institution. 
It says: “During this session half a dozen 
young men have boarded themselves for less 
than one dollar per week, and they seem to 




62 


(precept dub (practice 


thrive well on their fare. The son of an Iowa 
pastor has been with us six months at a 
cost of less than forty dollars for all his expen¬ 
ses.” These young people are in earnest, and 
will make their mark in due time. 

Character is worth money. Earnest work 
in self-improvement, diligence in study and in 
acquiring habits of piety, is the only true 
method of rising in the world. Thus, in the 
language of Hannah (I Samuel 2 ): “ The 
Lord maketh poor and maketh rich. He 
bringeth low, and lifteth up. He raiseth up 
the poor out of the dust, and lifteth up the 
beggar from the dunghill to set them among 
the princes, and to make them inherit the 
throne of glory.” Thus He raiseth David 
from a pious shepherd boy to the throne of 
Israel; Elizabeth, from the wife of an humble 
priest, becomes the mother of the greatest 
prophet in Israel; and Mary, the wife of a 
carpenter, becomes the mother of God’s eter¬ 
nal Son. 

The late Rev. Albert Barnes left a legacy 
to Princeton College, as a token of gratitude 
for the support he received when a student at 
that institution. Imagine the youthful Barnes, 
a poor student at Princeton more than fifty 




^dtnffg Jiertnce 


63 


years ago, with a grateful heart eating the 
bread of charity, whom the rich students, the 
sons of millionaires, would scarcely notice on 
the street or in the class room. Only wait 
fifty years, boys. We will see who will win 
the brighter crown, you with your gay cloth¬ 
ing, dazzling jewelry and well filled purses, or 
Albert Barnes with his meagre fare, devoting 
his time to prayer and hard study. Who of 
all those students then at Princeton can show 
as useful and glorious a life as Albert Barnes ? 
Whose praises are sounded in two hemis¬ 
pheres, as were his, when he fell asleep ? 

Luther says : “ My parents were poor. My 
father was a wood cutter, and my mother has 
often carried wood on her back, that she might 
earn something wherewith to bring us children 
up.” Who would then have thought, that the 
child of such parents would one day become a 
man of might? Surely, the future Reformer, 
if such must come, will be the son of some 
great doctor or bishop. Will he? The poor 
boy is sent to school at Magdeburg, where he 
begs his bread. 

“ I was accustomed, with my companions, 
to beg a little food to supply our wants. One 
day, about Christmas time, we were going 




64 


(precept dub (practice 


through the neighboring villages, from house 
to house, singing in concert the usual carols 
on the infant Jesus at Bethlehem. We stopped 
in front of a peasant’s house, which stood de¬ 
tached from the rest, at the extremity of the 
village. The peasant, hearing us singing our 
Christmas carols, came out with some food, 
which he meant to give us, and asked, in a 
rough, loud voice, 4 Where are you, boys?’ 
Terrified at these words, we ran away as fast 
as we could. At last, however, as the peasant 
still continued to call after us, we stopped, for¬ 
got our fears, ran to him, and received the food 
that he had offered us. It is thus that we 
tremble and flee when our conscience is guilty 
and alarmed ; then we are afraid even of the 
help that is offered us, and of those who are 
our friends and wish to do us good.” 

When a student at Eisenach he likewise had 
to beg his bread. Often he received harsh 
words instead of food. One day, frightened 
by such cruel treatment, he was about to return 
hungry to his lodging. At length he stood 
before the house of an honest burgher, lost in 
painful reflections. Must he give up his 
studies for want of bread, and work with his 
father in the mines at Mansfield ? Suddenly 




^dnffg ^ertnce 


65 


a door opens, and a woman appears on the 
threshold ; it is the wife of Conrad Cotta. Her 
name was Ursula. The chronicles of Eisenach 
call her “the Pious Shunamite,” in remem¬ 
brance of her who so earnestly entreated the 
prophet Elijah to eat bread with her. She 
had often seen the pious youth in their re¬ 
ligious meetings. The sweetness of his voice 
and his devotion has greatly affected her. 
Surely a boy, that can sing hymns of praise to 
God so sweetly and engage in prayer so fer¬ 
vently, must be good. It nearly broke her 
heart, when she saw the poor student roughly 
driven from other people’s doors. At her door, 
too, she saw him tremblingly bear the abuse 
of the uncharitable. The poor boy at length 
finds a friend in Conrad Cotta’s wife, who takes 
him in, and for a long time supports him. 
Many years later, Luther said, “ Do not 
despise those boys, who try to earn their bread 
by chanting before your door, for the love of 
God.” 

This sturdy heroism in young people, this 
sacred, unconquerable determination to rise to 
intelligence and purity of life in spite of ad¬ 
verse surroundings, and at any sacrifice, is a 


5 




66 


(precept anb (practice 


joy to behold. Our country abounds with 
ministers and school teachers of both sexes, 
who are the children of the lowly and the 
toiling. By hard work, at a great price, have 
they reached positions of influence. As they 
gather congregations and schools around them, 
they help to mould the destinies of this great 
country, the immortal destinies of many souls. 
All honor to this noble band,—this glorious 
fraternity of useful toil. How they outrun, 
in the race of life, the gay butterflies of fash¬ 
ion, who lavish their wealth and precious time 
on their own ignoble persons, and are the 
daily admiration of themselves. 

Work, good work, which will benefit some 
people besides ourselves, is a means of happi¬ 
ness. Many of the heirs of fortune are the 
most unfortunate. With an untold amount of 
wealth at command, they are pining away 
with poverty of heart. Rolling proudly along 
the streets in their gay carriages, the sight of 
others wealthier than they, excites their envy, 
and eats like a cancer at their hearts. Around 
their sumptuous tables, their sated appetites 
crave for something, which wealth can not 
buy. Amid the costly surroundings of their 
parlors, they are consumed with ennui. O, 




^Sertnce 


67 


that they knew where to find real peace, to 
find Him who died to save them. 

Others spend their fortune in doing good ; 
invite the poor to their banquets. The bless¬ 
ing of the fatherless rests upon them. The 
sight of the happiness, which their good works 
create, fills them with joy divine ; the comfort 
which they bring to the huts of want, brings 
them that peace which passeth all understand¬ 
ing. Diligence in Christ’s business, going 
about doing good, is a cure for discontent, a 
balm for many a sore of sin. 

Beautiful is the sacrifice which good men 
and ladies make for Christ and His suffering 
children. Eaying aside the gaieties of their 
affluent homes, they use the money, which 
others would lay on the altar of fashion, for 
the relief of the suffering. Think of Elizabeth 
of Hungary selling her jewelry to buy bread 
for the poor and carrying it to them in her own 
apron. More true joy had Elizabeth in feed¬ 
ing the poor than in the dazzling glories of her 
crown. 

In i860 there lived a peasant in Eapland. 
His name was Hans Mathson. He had a herd 
of one hundred reindeer. Better off was he 
than many of his poor neighbors, yet not rich. 




68 


(precept anb (practice 


He and his wife were godly people. They had 
a pious daughter, an only child, Maria Mag¬ 
dalena. 

“Mother, dear,” she said one day,” “hast 
thou ever considered how terrible is the con¬ 
dition of our poor country people, both here 
and among the hills? ” 

“Truly, yes, my child ; they are little bet¬ 
ter than the heathen, though dwelling among 
Christian people.” 

The godly girl pauses at her spinning wheel, 
and pleads for the poor people. The mother 
said : “Art thou beside thyself, child ? What 
can I or thy father do in such a case ? we are 
but poor peasants. The king and the bishops 
have the power in their hands. They are too 
far away.” 

“ True, mother; why can not I go to Stock¬ 
holm and tell the king about the misery of the 
poor Lapps ?” 

The mother, too, drops the thread at her 
wheel, exclaiming, “Maria, what has turned 
thy brain, that thou talkest so wildly?” 

Nothing has turned the poor girl’s brain. 
She is in her right mind. For weeks she has 
thought of nothing but of these poor people, 
and how to help them. She has often told 




| 5 dtnffj> Service 


69 


God what pressed upon her pitying heart. She 
must go to Stockholm. To do this she must 
study the Swedish language. During the long 
winter evenings the book was always on her 
lap, as she plied her wheel. The next summer 
she often visited her pastor, when she led her 
father’s herd to pasture, who helped her to 
master the language. Thus she toiled for three 
years. Then she was ready for the long and 
perilous journey ; for she could speak with the 
king in his own Swedish tongue. Her parents 
pleaded and wept to dissuade their only child 
from her foolhardy plans. 

In the dead of a northern winter, when the 
days were very short and the nights very long, 
she made her way over eight hundred miles to 
see the king. On skates she traversed the icy 
plains of Sweden. In the great capital every¬ 
body stared at the pious maiden, in her out¬ 
landish reindeer dress. Many, too, saw the 
love and peace of God beaming from her face. 
She appeals to the Christians in Stockholm, 
who give her money for her poor Tapps. But 
she must see the king. Ah, how can such a 
poor maiden venture in the presence of the au¬ 
gust monarch ? She does venture, and is very 
kindly received. Many questions does he ask 




70 


(precept drib (practice 

her about the condition of his people in Lap- 
land, and gives her all the help she desires, 
and sends her home with his royal blessing. 
Who can describe the joy in that humble Lap- 
land home, when the heroic Maria returned 
from her successsful mission ? 

Dr. Chalmers, one of the grandest men in 
Scottish history, had a sister. She was not 
poor ; besides had many wealthy friends, who 
would have been glad to give her a home. Of 
her own choice, she had for many years been 
a minister of mercy. 

In one of the alleys running off from Foun¬ 
tain Bridge, Edinburgh, a street crowded with 
drunkenness and pollution, was the low-roofed 
building in which this good woman spent her 
life, to help unfortunates out of their miseries. 
Her chief work was with drunkards, their 
wives and daughters. Some of the poor 
women of the neighborhood, who had sober 
husbands, complained against her, saying: 
“Why do you pass us? Because our husbands 
are good, you do not care for us. If we had 
married some worthless sot, you would then 
have taken care of us in our poverty ! ’ ’ 

In the winter, when the nights were long 
and cold, you might see Helen Chalmers, with 




^§Atnffg ^ertnce 


71 


her lantern, going through the lanes of the 
city, hunting up the depraved, and bringing 
them out to her reform meetings. Insult her, 
did they ? Never. They would as soon think 
of pelting an angel of God. Fearless and 
strong in the righteousness of her work, she 
went up to a group of intoxicated men, shook 
hands with them and took them along to hear 
the Thursday night speech on temperance. 

One night, as she was standing in a low 
tenement, talking with the intemperate father, 
and persuading him to a better life, a man 
kept walking up and down the room, as though 
uninterested in what was said ; but finally, in 
his intoxication, he staggered up to her, and 
remarked : “ I shall get to heaven as easy as 
you will; do you not think so ? ” Helen 
answered not a word, but opened her Bible and 
pointed to the passage : “ No drunkard shall 
inherit the kingdom of God.” The arrow 
struck between the joints of the harness, and 
that little piece of Christian strategy ended in 
that man’s reformation. 




72 


(precept cmb (practice 


Our (protnbettftaC Casing 

EIGHT 


ELECT a calling for life ; but select 
the right one. And how to select 
the right one is not always easy 
to determine. The most young 
people show an inclination and 
aptitude for some pursuit or other in life. Very 
often they have the inclination without the 
aptitude. They desire to be something for 
which they have no talent. They aspire for 
things too high for them. Sometimes they 
have the aptitude without the inclination — 
have a talent for carpentering or blacksmith- 
ing, but wish to become merchants. In many 
young people it is hard to discover what they 
are fit for. They have talent, but have it in 
a latent, hidden form. Such must needs ex¬ 
periment a little in hunting an occupation for 
life. By trying this or that they can soon find 
out what they are fit for. I know a boy who 
is always playing at soldiering. Although be- 







Our (protnbenttaf Cuffing 


73 


yond the age when boys take pleasure in such 
things, he will spend hours by himself in mar¬ 
shaling his metallic infantry and cavalry. And 
the passion seems to be growing with his age. 
This indicates a native bent and talent for 
military work, which promises to develop it¬ 
self into the epaulettes and feather of some 
future general. 

Another is always whittling at something, 
and usually whittles well ; getting his stick of 
wood into proper shape, and finding a world of 
pleasure in the use of a small box of tools. If 
properly directed, he will develop into a car¬ 
penter or machinist. 

Another is a capital sketcher. He can 
sketch his little brothers and sisters as natural 
as life. But somehow he has imbibed a notion 
that he could become a greater man by study¬ 
ing law, although thus far he has shown no 
talent for that profession. Better try and train 
his sketching and painting powers. Possibly 
he may become an artist. 

Select a calling, and then stick to it, if 
there is any hope of success. Try and find a 
sphere in some trade, position, or profession, 
and then “ fight it out on that line. ’ ’ Don’t slip 




74 


(precept <tnb (pr&cftce 

about from one thing to another, neither aspire 
after the character of “a universal genius.” 
A jack of all trades never comes to much. He 
becomes master of none. A German proverb 
says : “Shoemaker, stick to your last.” And 
if the shoemaker have no last, he had better 
make one. Beware of experimenting in in¬ 
ventions ; in efforts to make a sudden fortune 
by means of some patented discovery. Where 
one makes a fortune in this way, one hundred 
lose one. I could give a long list of hard¬ 
working men, who spent the earnings of years 
in trying to invent a fortune, and never got it. 
“ Every Yankee is born with a machine shop 
in his head, and there is no hope for an Ameri¬ 
can boy who cannot whittle well.” Yes, there 
is. Only he must know what he is fit for. 

Many young men have wrong ideas of hon¬ 
or and respectability. Every place of useful¬ 
ness is alike honorable, provided one fills it 
well. On this subject the prevailing views ot 
society are false. The paper cap and the 
working apron of the mechanic are as true as 
a badge of respectability as the medal of honor 
or the coat of the soldier. 

It is better to be the first man in a country 
village than the obscurest and most insignifi- 




75 


Our (ptotnbenftaf Cafftng 

cant man in a large city. It is better to be a 
number one shoemaker than a number ten 
lawyer or doctor. It is better to be an honest 
brickmaker than a corrupt politician. It is a 
pity to spoil a good farmer to make a poor 
merchant or lawyer—poor in character, abil¬ 
ity, and influence. It is said that when Pierce 
was elected President of the United States, an 
old New Hampshire farmer said : “ He was a 
rather big man in New Hampshire, but spread 
him out over the United States, and he will 
spread thin.” 

It is better to fit oneself well for one trade 
or position in life than poorly for twenty ; 
better to master one good idea thoroughly and 
live by it, than keep nibbling at five hundred 
without knowing anything about any of them. 
If the one idea happens to be the wrong one, 
will not stand the test of experiment, then try 
to find the right one. A little so-called “bad 
luck ” now and then will not hurt us. Patrick 
Henry’s calling, as he thought, was the grocery 
business. But it would not work. Either he 
was the wrong man for the business, or it the 
wrong business for the man. He floundered 
and failed and his failure turned his life into 




76 


(precepf ctnb (practice 


another channel. But for his failure, he would 
not have become the eloquent champion of 
American Independence and the first orator of 
his age. Roger Sherman learned a shoemaker’s 
trade, but he could not make a living by it. 
His failure turned his life into a new way. 
He found it bootless to make boots. He cut 
bristles and staked his u all” on the “rights 
of man.” Had he not failed in shoemaking, 
Roger Sherman would not have become a 
Signer of the Declaration of Independence. 
Some defeats, if properly improved, lead to 
victory. A certain writer says : 

“ There is a mistaken idea, common to many parents, 
that their children are as well adapted to one employ¬ 
ment as another, and that they only need opportunities 
to learn regarding this pursuit or that, to become pro¬ 
ficients and rise to eminence. More than half of the sad 
failures so commonly observed are due to being forced 
into the wrong road in early life. Young men are forced 
into pulpits, when they should be following the plough ; 
forced into courts of law, when they should be driving a 
plane in a carpenter’s shop ; forced into sick rooms, as 
physicians, when they should be guiding a locomotive, 
or heading an exploring party into the Rocky Moun¬ 
tains; forced into industrial laboratories when they 
should be in the counting-room or shop. 

‘ ‘ The question is, not what we will make of our boys, 
but what position they are manifestly designed to fill; 
in what direction does nature point, as respects avoca- 




77 


£)ut (protribenftaf CafRitg 


tions and pursuits in life, which will be in harmony with 
their capabilities and instincts ? It is no use for us to re¬ 
pine and find fault with the supposed vulgar tastes of our 
boys. We must remember that no industrial calling is 
vulgar; every kind of labor is honorable ; and it is far 
better to be distinguished as a first-class cobbler or ped¬ 
dler than to live the contemptible life of a fifth-rate law¬ 
yer or clergyman. ’ * 




78 


(puctpi dttb (practice 


(WlanCy (gearing anb (Manners 

NINE 

is unwise to expect young people 
to become men and women before 
their time. The sedate, sober, 
smilingless faces of care-worn el¬ 
derly people would seem un¬ 
natural in youths of twelve and fifteen years. 
The tendency of American society is to pre¬ 
cocious development. Children are hurried 
on into studies beyond their years. The little 
scholars are prematurely crammed with lessons 
to repletion. How proudly the mother praises 
her Tommie, scarcely six years old, who is 
already a good reader and well booked in 
branches which boys of twelve usually grapple 
with. Little Mamie, less than eight years old, 
speaks in a most grandmotherly style to 
visitors and seems incapable of a rollic or romp 
with her companions. Her mother has trained 
her to ape the manners of older people—tried 
to put an old head upon young shoulders—and 
thinks her child is a prodigy. 







Qttdnfg QBedttng anb (ttUnrtere 


79 


Such a training develops hot-house plants in 
the garden of the home ; tender, sickly natures, 
lacking the unsophisticated genuineness and 
grit of real boys and girls. 

It is pleasant to witness the gradual growth 
of youth into manhood and womanhood. It 
is a transition for which previous training 
must have prepared them. And in its process, 
habits and traits of character are formed for 
life. 

Young men then and thereafter should try 
to form habits of proper bodily bearing. Not 
acquire the affected grace of the dandy or fop ; 
but learn to walk in an erect, proper way. 
Some young people lean or stoop forward in 
walking, and drag their limbs along as if they 
could scarcely lift them from the ground. 
Their slovenly walk follows them through 
life. We admire bodily grace and strength. 
These can be acquired by proper exercise, and 
by practicing some of the innocent sports of 
the young. Chief among these are skating 
and horseback riding, and other athletic sports. 
Open air employments and sports are a great 
help to proper bodily development. Carriage 
and car riding are of good avail ; but walking 
and horseback riding are of greater benefit. 




8o 


(precept cmb practice 


The Arabs and our American Indians are 
among the most graceful people in the world. 
They are trained to ride from childhood, and 
sit on the wildest horse, as if they were a liv¬ 
ing part of it. It is a pleasure to see them 
walk or run. They lift and handle their limbs 
like Bonner’s Dexter. New Zealanders are 
said to possess extraordinary bodily strength 
from similar early advantages. I hold that the 
man who can increase the habit of riding on 
horseback in town and country will be a ben¬ 
efactor to our nation. Are our inferior bodies 
a sign of our superior civilization and religion ? 
Some good people seem to think so. I hold 
that Christianity is designed not only to ben¬ 
efit the mind and spirit, but also the body. I 
am not pleading for the cultivation of prize¬ 
fighting powers, nor that young men should 
aim to become disciples of Heenan and Sayers ; 
bruisers and plug-uglies. But our bodies, too, 
as well as our souls, are fearfully and wonder¬ 
fully made. And that civilization and social 
training which cares only for the mind and 
the heart, at the neglect or expense of the 
body, is very one-sided and incomplete. 

Pay proper attention to your dress. In most 
cases it costs no more to dress becomingly than 




Qttanfg QSedrtng anb (tttanttere 


81 


unbecomingly. Cleanliness is allied to godli¬ 
ness. One who can feel comfortable with a 
greasy, ragged exterior, shows that the inside 
is greasy and ragged, too. Some slovenly 
young men claim to have eminent examples 
for imitation. One of the most noted jurists 
of Pennsylvania always had part of his 
clothing out of place or out of repair. And 
rarely could you meet him, without seeing his 
shirt bosom dotted with stray drops of tobacco 
juice. Horace Greeley’s misplaced necktie, 
greasy, gray coat, and well worn white hat, had 
become proverbial during the palmy days of 
his grand life. And there are young men who, 
in their efforts to become Horace Greeleys, 
emulate his greasy, careless habits. 

At one’s daily labor, cleanliness and tidy 
habits are often impossible. I meet hun¬ 
dreds of machinists and day laborers going to 
and coming from their work with their soiled 
over-alls and sooty hands and faces, and I 
think all the more of them. These honest, 
noble men toil hard to maintain their families 
and educate their children. And on Sunday 
I see them bringing their wives and little 
ones to church. Then their hands and faces 
are clean, their boots polished, their dress tidy. 


6 




82 


(precept anb (practice 


Have I not sometimes seen the wife or sister 
eyeing the hard-working young man with 
pride, as well she might? It costs very little 
to polish one’s boots, brush the hair and cloth¬ 
ing, soap the hands and the face, clean the 
finger nails, and change the linen twice a 
week. Cleanly, tidy habits you need; not 
simply the aping of them. You sometimes 
see a costly gold ring on the very dirty hand 
of a purse-proud lady ; and an expensive, 
feather adorned bonnet on a head that bears 
an unclean face. 

Do not lay stress on mere show, or make a 
parade of one costly article. I have seen 
young ladies in company for minutes picking 
at their lips, for the evident purpose of show¬ 
ing a fine ring on the hand thus used. You 
have, perhaps, noticed persons in company, or 
even at church, laboring to get their hand on 
the back of a pew or chair, or somewhere else 
where others could see the costly jewelry on it. 
People will make fools of themselves in the 
name of tidiness and good taste. But that is 
no reason why others should not try to culti¬ 
vate and practice them in their true spirit. 

Say you that this is a pernicious doctrine to 
be taught just now? Money and work are 




(Jttanfg QBeartnj dnb (Jttannm 8 3 


scarce, and people ought to be taught habits 
of economy, and not be incited to indulge in 
extravagances of dress. In this sense I preach 
this doctrine. It costs no more to be cleanly 
than slovenly. Tidiness does not require ex¬ 
pensive material, but what is plain and service¬ 
able. Most people, by a little extra attention 
and brushing up, can wear their garments 
twice as long as before, and look every whit as 
well. Oliver Titcomb says that ten dollars a 
year, spent about the neck in the dressing of a 
gentleman, will go farther than fifty dollars 
spread about his person. Which implies that 
inferior clothing is less perceptible at the lower 
than the upper part of the body. A well 
polished boot will look new, in spite of its 
patches. 

Strive to become mannerly. Good breeding 
is a great accomplishment, kike gold, it 
passes at its full value among all nations and 
in all ranks of society. Even a bad man, if 
good mannered, becomes a social favorite. 
Byron says of such an one : 

“He was the mildest manner’d man 
That ever scuttles ship, or cut a throat.” 




8 4 


(precept anb (practice 


Good manners belong only to the true gen¬ 
tleman. He is courteous, kind, and polite to 
superiors and inferiors ; to ladies and gentle¬ 
men. 

“I wish that boy were my brother,” said a 
certain lady to me not long since, as a youth 
of seventeen, with cap in hand, bade us good 
morning. 

“Why?” I asked. 

“ Because he is so manly and mannerly,” 
was her reply. 

He is an apprentice boy, very bright and 
very studious. He always lifts his cap, when 
he salutes you on the street, and never enters 
a house without taking it off. He never enters 
my study, and never leaves it, without saluting 
me. The latter he always does by turning 
his face toward me at the door. He invariably 
speaks in a modest and subdued tone of voice, 
and with remarkable intelligence. As fine a 
specimen of a gentlemanly youth as I know 
of. 

I know others of his age, equally, if not 
more religious, who converse so boisterously 
on the street, that you can hear them half a 
square off; and speak to one as if they thought 




(ttt<xnfg QSednng ftttb (Utannere 


85 


him hard of hearing ; and greet people and 
enter homes with hats on. 

The good-mannered youth will treat all 
with equal deference. He will speak politely 
to the poor negro or beggar woman on the 
street; to well dressed and ill dressed people ; 
to rich and poor. 

“ Why, general, do you salute a negro ? ” 
said a proud Southerner to Gen. Washington, 
as he lifted his hat to a colored man. 

“ Yes, sir,” was his tart reply. “ I will not 
allow a colored man to excel me in the duties 
of a gentleman.” 

I hold that for a gentleman or lady polite 
manners are a passport to the confidence and 
respect of all good people. By proper atten¬ 
tion and effort they are easily acquired. Every¬ 
body admires them in others. Why should 
not everybody strive to practice them them¬ 
selves? They accord with, and are produced 
by the Spirit of Christ. “ Be kindly affec- 
tioned one to another with brotherly love ; in 
honor preferring one another.” 




86 


(prcccpf anb (practice 


Jurmer Q0op6 

TEN 



NDUSTRY is a virtue; indolence 
is a vice. Paul admonished the 
Thessalonians : u Do your own 
business, and work with your own 
hands as we commanded you ; 
that ye may walk honestly toward them that 
are without, and that ye may have lack of 
nothing.” It is one of the signs of these de¬ 
generate times, that hand-work is by so many 
considered odious. The following is an extract 
of a Sunday-school address recently delivered 
by Judge Buncomb: 


“Boys, aim to become sober, virtuous, and respectable 
young men. By so doing you can succeed in life. The 
high places of the land invite you to become great. Who 
knows but what there may be among the crowd of boys 
before me some future Senators, Judges, or Presidents. 
Remember how the youthful Clay, ‘ the mill boy of the 
slashes,’ became the greatest American orator. Was not 
Lincoln, when a youth, a rail-splitter, and Andrew John¬ 
son a tailor ? Aim high, boys. He aims too low who 
aims beneath the White House. ’ ’ 






QBoge 


87 


I hold this Judge Buncomb to be a perni¬ 
cious heretic, albeit he is otherwise an excel¬ 
lent man. These senatorial and presidential 
aspirations are, to say the least, unsuited for 
Christian boys. Is it not equally and more 
meritorious for boys to aim to become virtu¬ 
ous, industrious citizens, Christian farmers and 
mechanics ? The above speech, and a thou¬ 
sand others like it, imply that an honest, use¬ 
ful, godly working man is not as good in the 
sight of God and as worthily employed as men 
high in office. Of course, we must respect 
them for their office’ sake. And, if they are in¬ 
tellectually and morally qualified, they are per¬ 
sonally deserving of our highest esteem. But 
evermore to make the attainment of the presi¬ 
dency “the chief end of man,” is not only 
nonsense, but the rankest poison. It appeals 
to wrong motives. It excites in the heart of 
the boy aspirations and ambitions, which are 
in direct conflict with simple faith and true 
piety. These Christian orators seem to forget 
that “ A Christian is the highest style of man,” 
no matter whether he be the President or his 
porter. 

It is strange that our word “ villain,” which 
a few hundred years ago meant a farmer or 




88 


(precept ani> (practice 


land-owner, should now be applied to a scoun¬ 
drel. Strange, too, that our word “boor,’’ 
which formerly meant a farmer (Bauer), should 
now designate a rude, uncouth person ; whilst 
everybody admits that farmers constitute the 
bone and sinew of the nation, who more than 
any other class lay the foundation of manufac¬ 
tures and commerce and of all healthy national 
progress. There is a growing dislike for the 
life and labor of the country. Farmer boys 
have a morbid desire to escape from the sup¬ 
posed drudgery of farm work. It gives them 
coarse, tanned hands and obliges them to spend 
six days out of the seven in working-clothes. 
It ranks them, as they suppose, with a less re¬ 
fined class of the community. These cityward 
longings especially afflict those who either 
have, or think they have, talent. As soon as 
a youth shows an aptness and talent in the 
study of his school lessons—if he happens to 
keep at the “head” of his class for a month— 
the neighborhood will at once say : ‘ ‘He ought 
to be a merchant, a lawyer, or a doctor,” as 
though farming were an occupation unworthy 
of and beneath a man of talent. The last 
twenty years have produced quite an anti¬ 
farming panic. The youth of the country, 




Sttmet Q0oge 


89 


hardy, hopeful sons of wealthy farmers, have 
shown the greatest impatience to secure a 
more respectable calling. L,ife and fire insur¬ 
ance companies, mercantile and other business 
departments have been overrun with applica¬ 
tions for situations. At the sacrifice of health, 
piety, and home comforts, this silly preference 
for city and business life had to be gratified. 
Here and there you find one who has bettered 
his position and prospects, whilst nine out of 
ten have less income, solid comfort, and true 
respectability than the home-farm offers them. 
It is said that thousands of the New York 
clerks live in out-of-the-way streets, room in 
dreary, dingy garrets, without home-sympathy 
and home-restraint, and exposed to the numer¬ 
ous temptations that are found in every square 
of this city. During business hours they are 
slaves to their employers. After business 
hours they have no one to take them by the 
hand but those whose touch is death. The 
bulk of these clerks are from the country. 
Nine-tenths of them would be the gainers, if 
they would work for the blacksmith or tailor 
in their native village. 

It is doubtless the duty of many young men 
to qualify themselves for business positions of 




90 


(puuft <mb (practice 


this kind. I esteem all honorable and useful 
employments. A good Christian salesman or 
clerk, who tries to excel in his business, keeps 
proper hours, attends faithfully to all his 
Christian duties—such an one I admire. What 
I condemn is the silly notion, that the occu¬ 
pation of a farmer is not as honorable, as lu¬ 
crative, and as useful as any other. 

Well may these fair-skinned, white-handed 
city clerks envy the country boys, albeit their 
clothes are coarse and soiled, their faces 
tanned, and their hands covered with a horny 
skin. They rise in time to breathe the pure 
morning air, untainted by the smoke of city 
chimneys. They hear the first notes of the 
birds—birds who live in familiar neighborly 
friendship with them. They roam through 
field and forest in spring, summer, and autumn, 
and enjoy the sight and taste of flowers and 
fruit. Their work gives them a good appe¬ 
tite, as I can testify from past experience. 
Their bread tastes sweet. Their digestion 
never fails them. Stomach, liver, and heart 
work hand in hand to make pure blood and 
strong bones. They go to bed betimes. Their 
head scarcely presses their pillow ere they are 
sweetly asleep. Their slumbers are not dis- 




farmer QSoje 


91 


turbed by the nightmares and horrid dreams, 
which late oyster suppers and drunken bouts 
produce. Thrashing machines give them much 
leisure in the winter season. The long even¬ 
ings they have all to themselves. Many a good 
book can they read through by next spring. 
Not every boy is a farmer’s son. Let such pre¬ 
pare for some position of usefulness ; seek to 
make a man—a Christian man of himself. I 
do esteem it a life-long blessing to have been 
born and nursed in a farm-house ; to have rol¬ 
licked in hay-mows and barn-yards ; to have 
hunted rabbits and nuts in autumn ; to have 
kept the flocks as David did, and held the plow 
as did Elisha. It was not my lot to remain a 
farmer. Providence decreed otherwise. But 
I have not lost my love for the country, for 
the people who by the sweat of their brow 
raise our bread. When I meet farmer boys in 
the country, my heart goes out towards them. 
I account every one the dear brother of my 
boyhood. To all farmer boys I herewith ex¬ 
tend the hand of Christian greeting. God bless 
you, my dear fellows. Aim to become Chris¬ 
tian farmers. Make yourselves useful. Read 
your Bibles. Learn your Catechisms. Have 
yourselves confirmed. Be strict, regular, at- 





92 


(pvectpt ani> (practice 


tentive members of the Church. And stick to 
your farms. The farmer boy who, without 
good reason, abandons the country to seek 
pleasure in the city, is a fool. 

Ex-President Martin Van Buren commenced 
his will, dated January 18, i860, as follows : 

“ I, Martin Van Buren, of the town Kinderhook, 
county of Columbia, and State of New York, heretofore 
Governor of the State and more recently President of the 
United States, but for the last and happiest year of my 
life , a farmer in my native town , do make and declare 
the following to be my last will and testament, &c.” 

About 460 years before Christ, Rome was 
rescued from destruction by Cincinnatus. He 
was a hero of the old Roman Republic, and 
withal a farmer. His farm could not have 
been more than about ten acres. Perhaps not 
that much. When the enemy had environed 
the city, and was about to take it, the Roman 
Senate bethought itself of Cincinnatus. They 
concluded that he alone could save them. 
The Senate sent messengers to bring him to 
the city. They found him at work in the 
field, clad in his tunic—in his shirt sleeves, as 
we would say. “Bring me my toga,” he 
called to his wife. This he put on, that he 
might receive the message of the Senate in 




farmer Q0oge 


93 


the befitting garb of a Roman citizen. He 
accepted the appointment of dictator, an office 
equal in power to that of the kings of old. 
After he had conquered the enemy, he returned 
to his small farm. Many years after, at the 
age of eighty years, he was appointed dictator 
a second time, in the time of great national 
periJ. In twenty-one days he saved his coun¬ 
try, and returned to his quiet country home 
again. No position in life can in itself make 
a man great and happy. But to fill one’s 
place well, however humble, that gives him 
true glory. 




94 


(precept attb (practice 


(practice QYla&ee (perfect 

ELE VEN 


F course, only in a relative sense. 
For absolute perfection is an attri¬ 
bute of God, beyond the reach of 
mortal man. No one can learn 
to excel in any good or great at¬ 
tainment without practice. “ Civilians,” as a 
rule, can not be relied upon as military officers. 
They lack the necessary education and disci¬ 
pline. And raw recruits are dangerous ma¬ 
terial with which to fight a battle. Only he 
who has been thoroughly drilled, whose head, 
limbs and joints are perfectly under his con¬ 
trol, makes a safe and an efficient soldier. 

How easy it was for us to repeat the multi¬ 
plication table in early boyhood. Not one of 
the many figures was wrongly stated. Now 
beginning in the middle of the column and 
running backward toward the head of the 
table ; then at the bottom of the table with 
“twelve twelves are one hundred and forty- 
four,” and rapidly skipping up and down like 







(practice (tttaftee (perfect 


95 


a drillmaster before his company. How easy 
for children to acquire this readiness in recit¬ 
ing the table. It is the result of drilling—of 
frequent repetition. A real pleasure it is to 
study English grammar, or the grammar of 
any other language, when one is thoroughly 
drilled in the rules, and by analyzing and con¬ 
structing sentences and frequent parsing, be¬ 
comes as familiar with all the details and parts 
of speech as he is with the alphabet. 

The other day I watched a little boy, scarcely 
eight years of age, skating on a pond. And a 
delightful treat it was to see him at it. Un¬ 
conscious of any one looking at him, he ca¬ 
reered hither and thither over the glassy ice, 
performing feats which I could never attempt 
without the risk of breaking a limb. With in¬ 
imitable grace he moved along. Very pretty 
was the sight. But he had been on skates be¬ 
fore, and now was on them every day. First 
on the icy pavement in the yard, at home ; 
then on the street gutters, he practiced with 
untiring energy. True, many a tumble had 
he received, now thumping the back of his 
head on the ice, filling his head with dizzy 
blackness, then sprawling on all fours ; but 
what of that ? Heroically he endured the drill 




96 


(precept atib (practice 

and drudgery of learning. Now his nimble 
boy-limbs frisked merrily over the ice with 
ease and safety. Looking admiringly at the 
little fellow, methought he might teach many 
children of larger growth a lesson. 

Begin your drill early, when the limbs and 
joints are elastic. A man of thirty rarely 
learns to skate. Begin your studies early. 
Then the memory is tenacious. Committing 
a page is often a pleasant amusement, especial¬ 
ly after the memory has been somewhat 
trained. Begin to study and commit the 
Scriptures early. Begin to pray, and to form 
habits of church going and worship in early 
youth. Then it will be comparatively easy. 
Very few people begin a religious life after 
thirty years of age. It is said that not one in 
four, who have lived wickedly until they are 
twenty years of age, ever become earnest, con¬ 
sistent Christians. 

The little skater had many a mishap and 
bruising tumble. A lazy, thriftless boy would 
have said, “ I shall quit this neck-breaking 
business. It does not pay.” Not so he. At 
first, when he could not raise two skates, he 
would worry over the ice with one. When he 
fell, he got up and fought the battle boyfully 




(practice Qttaftee (perfect 


97 


over again. He drilled and drove toward the 
perfecting of his art with unconquerable ener¬ 
gy. And now we older folks must be ashamed 
to see this little boy excel us in this pleasing 
acquirement. 

Wherefrom we are to learn to defy failures. 
In beginning to learn a lesson, whether it be 
a lesson in business or in religion, we must 
expect an unpleasant slip here and there. A 
worldly-minded youth may find it difficult at 
once in all respects to lead a godly life. One 
accustomed to spend his Sundays in silly and 
sinful amusements, may find it burdensome at 
once to spend them in acts of worship and ed¬ 
ifying reading and proper conversation. Pos¬ 
sibly he may here and there fail at first. Shall 
he yield to the failure—say within himself: 
“ It is of no use. I may as well give it up ; 
for I can not keep my resolutions?” Or shall 
he do as did the little skater—get up when he 
falls, and pray and strive, and defy failures? 

The best and only way to learn to do a thing 
is to begin to do it and ever afterwards continue 
doing it. In order that we may learn to drill, 
we must drill. To learn to pray, we must 
pray. To learn to go to church and worship 
God, we must go to church and worship God. 


7 




98 


(precept anb (practice 


We are never too old to learn and never too 
old to drill. “Exercise thyself unto godli¬ 
ness,” was Paul’s advice to Timothy. Piety 
is a habit—a dai'y habit. So is wickedness a 
habit. Through what a drilling ceremony 
drunkards, profane swearers and liars are con¬ 
tinuously passing. They have a skilful drill 
master, who keeps them at their distinctive 
lessons every day. The best Christians stand 
in need of daily practice in the art of godly 
living. Paul prayed to the last. Even our 
Saviour prayed with His dying breath. Men 
the most learned in the Scriptures read the 
most therein. Dr. Gouge used to read fifteen 
chapters every day—five in the morning, five 
at noon and five in the evening. Jeremiah 
Whittaker usually read all the epistles in the 
Greek Testament every two weeks. Joshua 
Barnes is said to have read a small pocket 
Bible, which he usually carried with him, a 
hundred and twenty times through. Robert 
Cotton read the whole Bible through twelve 
times a year. By searching the Scriptures we 
learn to search ; by habitually worshipping 
God we learn to worship. By constant, 
assiduous training the ancient athletes became 
experts in their art. As soon as they ceased 




99 


(practice (tttaftee (perfect 


to engage in this their powers began to abate. 

In like manner we become strong or weak in 
our Christian graces, in proportion as we strive 
to carry them into daily practice. 


“Restraining prayer, we cease to fight; 
Prayer makes the Christian’s armor bright, 
And Satan trembles, when he sees 
The weakest saint upon his knees. ’ ’ 


As an apt illustration of this, we give the 
following, for which we are indebted to Hugh 
Miller : 

A Scotch Highlander, who served in the first 
disastrous war with the American colonies, was 
brought one evening before his commanding 
officer, charged with the capital offence of be¬ 
ing in communication with the enemy. The 
charge could not well be preferred at a more 
dangerous time. Only a few weeks had elapsed 
since the execution of Major Andre, and the 
indignation of the British, exasperated almost 
to madness by the event, had not yet cooled 
down. There was, however, no direct proof 
against the Highlander. He had been seen in 
the gray of the twilight, stealing out from a 
clump of underwood that bordered on one of 
the huge forests, which, at that period, covered 


f L.of 0. 




IOO 


(precept <tnb (practice 


by much the greater part of the United 
Provinces, and which, in the immediate neigh¬ 
borhood of the British, swarmed with the troops 
of Washington. All the rest was mere in¬ 
ference and conjecture. The poor man’s de¬ 
fence was summed up in a few words. He had 
stolen away from his fellows, he said, to spend 
an hour in private prayer. 

“Have you been in the habit of spending 
hours in private prayer?” sternly asked the 
officer, himself a Scotchman and a Presby¬ 
terian. 

The Highlander replied in the affirmative. 

“Then,” said the other, drawing out his 
watch, “never in all your life had you more 
need of prayer than now ; kneel down, sir, and 
pray aloud, that we may all hear you.” 

The Highlander, in the expectation of in¬ 
stant death, knelt down. His prayer was that 
of one long acquainted with the appropriate 
language in which the Christian addresses his 
God. It breathed of imminent peril, and ear¬ 
nestly implored the Divine interposition in the 
threatened danger—the help of Him who, in 
times of extremity, is strong to deliver. It 
exhibited, in short, a man who, thoroughly 
conversant with the scheme of Redemption, 




(practice (IVtaftee (perfect 


IOI 


and fully impressed with the necessity of a 
personal interest in the advantages which it 
secures, had made the business of salvation 
the work of many a solitary hour, and had, in 
consequence, acquired much fluency in expres¬ 
sing all his various wants as they occurred, 
and thoughts and wishes as they arose. 

“You may go, sir,” said the officer, as he 
concluded ; “ you have, I dare say, not been in 
correspondence with the enemy tonight.” 

“His statement, n he continued, addressing 
himself to the other officers, “is, I doubt not, 
perfectly correct. No one could have prayed 
so without a long apprenticeship ; fellows who 
have never attended drill, always get on ill at 
review.” 




102 


(J)tecepf dub (practice 


QjJooRtf tx>e (Reab 

TWELVE 


FEW evenings ago I sat among a 
group of nephews and nieces. 
Some merrily laughed and chat¬ 
ted, some played and prattled, 
while others conned over school 
lessons. It was through speaking now with 
this, then with that one, that my eyes and 
heart were on a certain little chap for whom 
the table was almost too high to lay his book 
upon wherein to read. “ Papa, please let me 
have that paper, when you are done with it,” 
said the little fellow. Presently papa hands 
him the paper, and the short philosopher be¬ 
comes unconscious of all around him, while he 
is poring over the daily paper, so intently does 
he read the news. This thirst for news is 
nothing extraordinary in the case of older per¬ 
sons, but for children even to pant for the in¬ 
dispensable daily paper, affords matter for 
serious reflection. 







£$e QSoo&e tt»e (Reab 


103 


It is interesting to sit in the back corner of 
some crowded Sunday-school, and watch the 
countenances and conduct of the scholars as 
their papers and books are handed to them, 
like a brood of unfledged robins, which hail 
the return of the parent bird, with beaks wide 
open to receive and enjoy the choicely gath¬ 
ered food. Thus hungry children seize the 
contents of every new book and paper given 
them. 

There is a class of animals which are said 
to be *‘ omnivorous’ ’ — all-eating — because 
they devour herbs and flesh and everything 
else eaten by any living thing. There is a 
class of readers who possess a similar capacity. 
All books, good, bad, and indifferent, poetry 
and prose, philosophy and theology, fiction 
and fact, are alike crammed into the same 
mental stomach. Many young people read 
any and every kind of light reading which they 
can lay their hands upon, without ever inquir¬ 
ing as to whether they will gain or lose thereby. 

An intelligent friend remarked to me not 
long since, that in his early youth he read a 
very captivating novel. Among many strik¬ 
ing things it contained were well-concealed 
flings at the Bible and Christianity. He never 




104 


(precept anb (practice 


suspected the slightest danger when he took up 
the book. His parents had carefully given him 
a pious training. The whole blessed fruit of 
this was poisoned by reading this one book. It 
fastened certain doubts upon his mind, which 
followed him for years. Not that he wished to 
be an unbeliever. He could not help it. The 
reading of that one book did all the mischief, 
which it required years for the grace of God to 
counteract. 

Another victim of unwise reading I remem¬ 
ber. He was a man of learning, who stood in 
the front ranks of his profession. He graced 
the halls of legislation and became the ex¬ 
pounder of law upon the bench. No man 
was more regular in his pew at church, and 
few in the congregation more liberal in the 
support of the cause of Christ. I sought his 
society, to which he always bade me welcome. 
He was well read in Church History, and con¬ 
versed on topics of sacred and profane lit¬ 
erature as few laymen can. Yet he was with¬ 
out faith, though a better man than some who 
profess to have it. Up to that time he had 
never connected with the Church—had never 
communed. Why not? As he himself told 
me, because when a youth he had read Vol- 




QSoofte toe (Keab 


105 


ney’s travels—an able and deeply interesting 
work, but brimful of infidelity. An unsus¬ 
pecting young man, he read it with no little 
pleasure, thinking that by his good judgment 
and strong will, he could neutralize the pois¬ 
onous effects of the book. The seed of error 
fell into his receptive heart, took root, and 
followed him through life. Not that he 
wished to be unbelieving, or discard the doc¬ 
trines and claims of the Church. All resulted 
from reading one bad book. He has gone to 
his rest. And ere going, the blood of Christ 
washed away the stain from his heart which 
Volney had made. Through baptism and con¬ 
firmation he became a member of the Church, 
and through the Church a member of Christ, 
and an heir of everlasting life. 

Read, but read aright. There are many 
books, but all books are not alike good to 
read. Some had better be burned. And be¬ 
cause they are not burned betimes, those that 
read are in danger of everlasting burning. “A 
book’s a book, though there is nothing in it.” 
Don’t read it unless it contains something in¬ 
structive and edifying. Few people have 
much time to read. The more important, 




io6 


(precept ditb (practice 


therefore, to spend the little time we have for 
it, in reading something that will bless and not 
curse us. 

We cannot expect all persons to read the 
same books. The young need a certain kind 
of reading adapted to their wants in style and 
contents. Neither too heavy nor too light, 
neither too deep nor too shallow. It would be 
folly to ask a lad of fifteen to read Kant’s Pure 
Reason; and an equal folly to put Rothe’s 
Ethics into the hands of a girl of that age. 
And, if possible, a still greater folly to assign 
them a course of reading in the literary or 
rather illiterary chaff and husk which in our 
day deluges the book markets. 

Reading ought to have an aim. What does 
the reader intend to make of himself? A law¬ 
yer, doctor, clergyman, mechanic, farmer? 
Let books be selected with a view to his ex¬ 
pected future calling. Ladies ought, likewise, 
to guard against aimless reading. For them, 
too, God has a vocation. Whether they ex¬ 
pect to make themselves useful by teaching or 
sewing, by labor with their minds or hands, 
or both, as they ought to do, they ought, in 
part, to know and shape their reading ac¬ 
cordingly. 




QfJoofta m (Reab 


107 


The following, taken from Hours at Home, 
we deem good advice, a fair specimen of the 
usual contents of this excellent monthly : 

“ The first rule which we prescribe is to read with at¬ 
tention. This is the rule of all others ; the golden rule. 
It stands instead of a score of minor directions. Indeed, 
it comprehends them all. To gain the power and habit 
of attention is the great difficulty to be overcome by 
young readers when they begin. The one reason why 
reading is so dull to multitudes of active and eager minds 
is that they have not acquired this habit of attention, so 
far as books are concerned. The eye may be fastened 
upon the page, and the mind may follow the lines, and 
yet the mind not be half awake to the thoughts of the 
author, or the best half of its energies may be abroad on 
some wandering errand. One evil that comes from om¬ 
nivorous and indiscriminate reading is that the attention 
is wearied and overborne by the multitude of the objects 
that pass before it; that the miserable habit is formed 
and strengthened of seeming to follow the author when 
he is half comprehended, of vacantly gazing upon the 
page that serves just to occupy and excite the fancy, 
without leaving distinct and lasting impressions.” 

It was said of Edmund Burke, who was a 
great reader and a great thinker also, that he 
read every book as if he were never to see 
it a second time, and thus made it his own, a 
possession for life. Were his example imi¬ 
tated, much time would be saved that is spent 
in recalling things half remembered, in taking 




io8 


(precept anb (practice 


up the stitches of lost thoughts. A greater 
loss than that of time would be avoided; the 
loss of dignity and power, which is possessed 
by him who keeps his mind tense, active, and 
wakeful. It is very common to give the rule 
thus, “ Whatever is worth reading at all, is 
worth reading well.” If by well is intended 
the utmost stretch of attention, it is not liter¬ 
ally true, for there are books which serve for 
pastime and amusement, books which can be 
run through when we are half-sick, and almost 
unable to attend. Then there are books which 
we may look through, as a merchant runs over 
the advertisements in a newspaper—taking up 
the thoughts that interest and concern us es¬ 
pecially, as a magnet takes and holds the iron 
filings that are scattered through a handful of 
sand. But if every part of a book be equally 
worthy our attention, as Arnold, Grote, Meri- 
vale, Gibbon, Burke, or Webster; Milton, 
Shakespeare, or Scott, then should the entire 
energy of attention be aroused during the time 
of reading. The page should be read as if it 
were never to be seen a second time; the men¬ 
tal eye should be fixed as if there were no 
other object to think of; the memory should 
grasp the facts (the needful dates, the inci- 




QfSooft® we (Rcdb 


109 


dents, etc.), like a vice, the impressions should 
be distinctly and sharply received, the feelings 
should glow intensely at all that is worthy 
and burn with indignation at everything which 
is bad. For the want of this habit, thoroughly 
matured and made permanent, time is wasted, 
negligent habits are formed, the powers of the 
mind are systematically weakened by the very 
exercise which should give them strength, and 
the act which ought to arouse and strengthen 
the intellect, produces no deeper and more 
abiding impression than the shifting pictures 
of a magic lantern, or the fantastic groupings 
of the kaleidoscope—first a bewildering show, 
then confusion and vacancy. 

There is nowadays a special danger from this 
inattention. So many books are written, 
which are good enough in their way, and yet 
are the food for easy, i. e ., lazy reading, and 
they are so cheap withal; so much excitement 
prevails in regard to them, that an active mind 
is in danger of knowing many things super¬ 
ficially and nothing well, of being driven 
through one volume after another with such 
breathless haste as to receive few clear impres¬ 
sions and no lasting influences. 




no 


(precept anb (practice 

Passive reading is the evil habit against 
which most readers need to be guarded, and 
to overcome which, when formed, requires the 
most manful and persevering efforts. The 
habit is the natural result of a profusion of 
books, and the indolence of our natures and 
our times, which desire to receive thoughts, 
or rather pictures, rather than vigorously react 
against them by an effort that thinks them 
over and makes them its own. It is the in¬ 
tellectual dyspepsia which is induced by a 
plethora of intellectual diet, if that may be 
called intellectual which is the weak dilution 
of thought. Almost better not to read at all, 
than to read in such a way. Certainly it is 
better to be forced to steal a half hour from 
sleep, after a day of bodily toil, or to depend 
for your reading on an hour at mid-day noon¬ 
ing when your fellow laborers are asleep, if 
you but fix your whole mind on what yon 
read, than to dawdle away weeks and months 
in turning over the leaves of hundreds of vol¬ 
umes in search for something new, which is 
feebly conceived, as lazily dismissed, and as 
stupidly forgotten. Better read one history, 
one poem, or one novel well, if it takes a year 
to dispatch it at stolen intervals of time, than 




QBoofte we (Reab 


III 


to lazily consume twelve hours of the day in 
a process which uses up the time, and, what is 
worse, uses up the intellect, the fancy and the 
living soul. 

But how is the attention to be controlled ? 
How can this miserable passiveness be pre¬ 
vented or overcome ? Rules in great number 
have been prescribed. All sorts of directions 
have been devised. An ingenious author has 
advised that each sentence should be read 
through at a single breath ; the breath being 
retained until the sentence is finished. Some 
advise to read with the pen in hand ; others to 
make a formal analysis of every volume; 
others to repeat to ourselves, or to recite to 
others the substance of every page and chap¬ 
ter. These, and other devices, are all of service 
in their way, and some of them we will con¬ 
sider in their appropriate place. But their 
chief value turns upon this, that they awaken 
an interest, either direct or indirect, in the 
subject matter which is read. Whatever 
awakens the interest will be certain to fix and 
hold the attention. The hired lad in the 
country who steals an hour from sleep or rest, 
that he may get on a few pages in the odd 
volume of Plutarch or Rollin which has fallen 




112 


(ptmpf anb (practice 


in his way, to unfold before his astonished 
gaze the till then unknown history of the 
ancient world, and the errand boy of the city, 
who stands trembling at the book stall, lest the 
sturdy Jew who owns it should cut short his 
borrowed pleasure from the page which he de¬ 
vours, need no artificial devices to teach them 
to hold the mind to the book, or to retain its 
contents. The great secret of their attention 
is to be found in the fresh interest with which 
they lay hold of the thoughts of the pictured 
page, and this is the great secret of the habit 
of successful reading even to the mind that has 
been disciplined to the most amazing feats of 
application. There are no arts of attention, 
no arts of memory which can be compared with 
this natural and certain condition of success. 

He, then, who would read with attention 
must learn to be interested in what he reads. 
He must feel wants or learn to create wants, 
which must be supplied. If it be history that 
he would read with attention, he must feel de¬ 
ficiencies that will not let him rest till they are 
supplied ; he must be impelled by a desire that 
will command its object. Is it poetry or fic¬ 
tion ? He must be excited by a restless appe¬ 
tite that will be ever amused with new pic- 




QBoofts toe Qfteab 


113 


tures, or diverted by humorous pieces, or 
stirred by lofty ideals, or charmed by poetic 
melody, and that grows by what it feeds on. 
And the man must master and not be mastered 
by his increasing stock of knowledge and his 
treasured products of the imagination He 
must exercise great and still greater energy in 
judging and applying the acquisitions he has 
made, making them to accompany his mus- 
ings, to feed his memory, to animate his prin¬ 
ciples, to guide his life. 


8 




(precept cmb (practice 


”4 


Coafeb £on<$ue 

THIRTEEN 

OD morning, Mr. Blank.” 

“Good morning, Doctor.” 

“ Well, how are you this morn¬ 
ing?” quoth the sage doctor. 
“Slept pretty well last night? 
How is your appetite ?’ ’ Putting on his glasses, 
sagely he proceeds : 

“ Show me your tongue , please ? .Ah ! yes ! 
still coated.” 

The tongue settles the matter ; shows what 
is going on in the system ; is an index of the 
disease. It is a singular provision of nature, 
to have the unseen disorders of the body write 
their complaints on this little organ of speech. 

The soul’s disorders, too, are often read from 
the tongue. It acts as a sort of safety valve to 
the mind. What would many people do with 
their overburdened minds, surcharged with a 
mass of unripe notions, were it not for this 
method of escape ? “ Out of the abundance of 
the heart the mouth speaketh and when that 







Coahb Congue 


ns 


abundance happens to be foolish stuff, it pro¬ 
claims its quality through the tongue. The 
soul’s physician can frequently detect the 
character of the patient by a similar method. 
Called to minister counsel and comfort to some 
troubled spirit, he might well say : “Show me 
your tongue, please.” How have you been 
using it ? In prayer, worship, words of gen¬ 
tleness, kindness, and love? Or of scandal, 
profanity, impurity, lying? In sorrow or in 
joy, goodness or badness, the heart demands 
utterance ; and the utterance comes through 
the tongue. Silence is a great virtue, but one 
of difficult attainment. David tried it when 
sorrowful, until his soul heaved with the tu¬ 
mult within. “ My sorrow was stirred. My 
heart was hot within me ; while I was musing 
the fire burned; then spake I with my tongue. ” 
A very little organ is the tongue, yet what 
a power hath it wielded, and still doth wield! 
It is seldom seen by any body, save by the 
doctors, in search of its naughty revelations. 
But felt it is all the world over. A marvel¬ 
ously active member it is. Never wearying in 
its ceaseless motions. From the little child, 
trying to jabber its dawning ideas to its loqua¬ 
cious grandmother, the tongue wags evermore 




n6 


(precepf dnb (practice 


and never complains of hard work. It is a 
little member and boasteth great things. Be¬ 
hold how great a matter a little fire kindleth. 
The Apostle James must have felt the fangs 
of some venomous tongues—“spit-fires” of 
speech. He calls it hard names : A fire, a 
world of iniquity ; it defileth the whole body, 
and setteth on fire the course of nature ; and 
is set on fire by hell. Beasts can be tamed, 
but u the tongue can no man tame.” An un¬ 
ruly evil, full of deadly poison. With it we 
bless God ; with it we curse men. 

The wicked man, who has not God in his 
thoughts, has mischief and vanity under his 
tongue, where the serpent has its deadly 
venom. (Psalm 10:7). A true citizen of Zion 
“backbiteth not with his tongue.” (Psalm 
15:3). He that would live long and happily, 
must “keep his tongue from evil and his lips 
from speaking guile.” (Psalm 34:12, 13). 
The tongue of the wicked hath a keen edge ; 
it is “sharp as a razor.” (Psalm 52:2); 
“sharp as a sword.” (Psalm 57:4). The 
Scriptures speak of a “lying tongue,” “a 
tongue of flattery,” “ a false tongue,” “a fro- 
ward tongue,” “ a naughty tongue,” “ a per¬ 
verse tongue, ” “ a backbiting tongue.’ ’ Truly, 




Coateb tongue "7 

this organ of human speech, so powerful for 
good, must be capable of great evil, when 
wielded by a wicked heart. 

It is likewise mentioned in terms of praise. 
The “tongue is filled with singing,” when 
under the power of religion. “ The tongue of 
the just is as choice silver. ” “ The tongue of 

the wise is health.” “A wholesome tongue is 
a tree of life. ’’ 

The tongue is a medium of communication 
like the telegraphic wire. At one end is the 
mind and heart No one outside can know 
what is there thought and felt, until the tongue 
frames it all into words. 

The discerning and prudent can decipher 
the messages sent from the soul over the 
tongue, just as accurately as the operator in 
his little room interprets the rapid ticking of 
the telegraphic instrument by the ear. 

I sometimes happen to fall in company with 
a clerical brother ; a good and useful man. He 
is brimful of talk, and talks well, but talks all 
about himself. He is in a delightful humor, 
and pleased with matters in general ; but mat¬ 
ters in general all revolve around him. The 
other day a legal friend expressed himself 
highly pleased with his sermon on the previous 




ii8 


(precept dnb (practice 


Sunday. And really he had bestowed very 
little thought upon it; but then it just shows 
how incorrectly we often judge of our produc¬ 
tions. By the way ) remarks this friend, I lately 
lost an excellent member of my church. His 
funeral was very solemn. During my sermon 
there was scarcely a dry eye in the congrega¬ 
tion. It—the sermon—produced quite a talk 
in the community. The afflicted family re¬ 
quested a copy for publication. 

“ Have you seen my last article in the ‘ Re¬ 
ligious Trumpet?’” continued my self-com¬ 
placent friend. Somewhat abashed, I answered 
that I had not seen it, “ Well, no doubt, 
you have heard of it.” “Well, no, I have 
not even heard of it.” “ Haven’t you? There 
was a good deal of talk about it. The editor 
says some of his readers were delighted with 
it. It is pleasant, you know, to have one’s 
labor appreciated.” Thus some men can see 
no difference between blowing the Gospel 
trumpet and blowing their own trumpet. 

The conversation passes from one topic to 
another—he, of course, selecting the topics ; 
but no matter on what it turns, the scarcity of 
money, trouble with servants, a smoking chim¬ 
ney ; the progress of vice; with marvelous 




Coateb tongue 


119 


dexterity he makes the topic give a blow 
through his trumpet; a puff to his puff-loving 
soul. The tongue is coated. What shall the 
dose be ? An emetic ? Ipecacuanha ? 

A stranger enters the door of my study one 
morning. The visitor is a middle-aged man, 
a farmer, with a very limited education. Pos¬ 
sibly he can read and write sufficiently to 
transact what little business he may have. He 
seats himself at my study table and wags his 
tongue in this wise : “ See here, my friend, I 
have lately converted myself and feel concerned 
about our denomination. The great trouble 
with us is that you ministers are not converted. 
A man must be converted before he is fit to 
preach. Learning does very well, and the ex¬ 
plaining of the Scriptures is all right in its 
place, but there is not a bit of use in it unless 
you ministers will convert yourselves.” He 
paused a few moments to roll a large quid to 
the other side of his mouth and squirt a stream 
of tobacco juice at the spittoon. 

“ Now, our dear pastor Jones is a very kind, 
affectionate man, and an excellent preacher. I 
have always liked him, and still love him 
dearly. Nobody can say aught against his 
character. He tries to live right, and perform 




120 


(precept anb (practice 


his duties. But, bless my heart, of what use 
is it for a man to be so good when he is not 
converted ? If only he would convert himself, 
he might save many souls.” A short pause 
ensues, to allow the tongue to send forth an¬ 
other filthy stream to the spittoon. His face 
beams with delight—delight with himself, 
whilst his clumsy, hard-worked fingers thump 
on the table, as if unconsciously playing a 
tune ; or like the operator at his battery, ham¬ 
mering on the little brass knob to make the 
telegraph tell its latent story. 

“ See here, my friend,” continues the self- 
converted stranger, ‘ ‘ I know all about this 
matter. I have gone through it; I have con¬ 
verted myself and see just how it is. No mat¬ 
ter how much you know, how good and faith¬ 
fully you preach, and how uprightly you may 
live, unless you convert yourselves (whew! 
there goes another volley at the spittoon) it 
will all be useless. Your sermon must come 
from above—from God. Oh, how much good 
you ministers might do, if you would convert 
yourselves.” I answered him not a word and 
thought all the while, “ How this man’s 
tongue is coated. ” What shall be the dose ? 
Nox vomica ? An emetic ? Alas, can there 




ZQe Coafeb tongue 


121 


be any further need of an emetic after such a 
stream of naughtiness ! The poor man is so 
pleased with himself that his face beams with 
conscious pride, his eyes stand out with fat¬ 
ness, the tone of his voice and the peculiar 
jerk of his head clearly tell me that if I knew 
of any finer, smarter, and holier man on the 
face of the earth than he, I should please let 
him know. The tongue is coated. It is said 
when Rev. H. Kroh was the Reformed pastor 
at Lebanon, Pa., he was accosted one day by 
a drunken man, who extended his hand, say¬ 
ing: “ Why, don’t you know me? You con¬ 
verted me.” “Ah, indeed,” said the worthy 
pastor. “ It looks like it. If God had con¬ 
verted you, you would not be drunk today.” 

Here comes another patient. “ Good morn¬ 
ing, Mr. Blank.” 

“Good morning, Mrs. Croaker.” 

“ Dear me, Mr. Blank, I am dreadfully wor¬ 
ried. I have just heard that Mr. A. was taken 
home drunk last night. What a pity for his 
family ; and his wife a member of our church 
yet, and he a pew-holder ? Do you know that 
Lucy B. attended the masquerade ball the 
other night? At least, I suspect she did; it 
would be just like her. Do you think such a 




122 


(precept dnb (practice 


lively piece as she is fit to be a Sunday-school 
teacher ? Have you heard that Deacon Green 
gambles? I saw him talking with a black-leg 
the other day, which is a sure sign that he is 
one too. I have just heard that our church 
roof leaks again and that half of the ceiling is 
about falling on our pretty carpet. Indeed, 
it might fall on our pretty bonnets some day. 
Just think, Harry Doughface is going to leave 
our church. He says he feels more at home in 
the ( little church around the corner.’ ” Thus 
poor Mrs. Croaker’s tongue wags from one un¬ 
pleasant suspicion to another with evident rel¬ 
ish. As a vulture feeds on dead carcasses, so 
feeds she on the loathsome rumors and sur- 
misings of the community. Tongue-coated, 
madam. A blue pill before you go to bed. 

My friend Dobbins has his own peculiar way 
of praising his fellow beings. He will enter¬ 
tain me by the hour with ambiguous compli¬ 
ments to worthy people. “What an active 
church member Mr. Burchell is. Always 
doing his part and never absent from church 
of a Sunday. But then, he may well be thus. 
It pays him in his business. For my part, I 
like to see people being good church members, 
whether it pays or not.” 




€oafeb Cottgue 


123 


u Is it not surprising how liberally George 
Brown supports the cause of Christ ? He gives 
a large part of his income to religious objects 
—and always has a kind word for those who 
ask him for it. Few men in our town do as 
much according to their means as he. After 
all, Mr. Blank, people that have it to spare can 
easily give. And then how many give liberally 
to make a show of what they do. And I should 
not be surprised if George Brown did the same. 
Isn’t Mrs. Briggs a lovely lady, and so pious ? 
What a pity her husband is a drunkard. Lucy 
Lake is a charming girl. By the way, Mr, 
Blank, have you ever heard that her grand¬ 
father set his neighbor’s barn afire?” You 
see Dobbins can not bear to see that others are 
better than himself. His mean, sanctimonious 
soul is being devoured with envy, which is 
clearly seen from his coated tongue. 

My friend, Flora McFlimsy, is a lady of re¬ 
fined manners and a glib tongue. She dresses 
with good taste, and is free to express her 
views of the good or bad taste of others. She 
has a singular memory that retains the shape 
and color of a score of dresses, more easily than 
a text of ten words. How her eye can pass 
over so many in review, during a single ser- 




124 


Qprecepf anb (practice 

vice of the congregation, is a mystery ; indeed, 
it well nigh borders on the miraculous. She 
brings enough material from church for criti¬ 
cism to fill a volume; but it all relates to 
dress. She can hardly wait till she is outside 
of the church door ; then talks long and loud, 
on this one’s ungraceful walk, that one’s old 
fogy bonnet, another one’s old-fashioned dress. 
And whilst she can not even remember the 
text, she can talk vain-gloriously for days 
about her flimsy topics of fashion, never for a 
moment suspecting that thereby she exhibits 
her coated tongue to others. 

Dick Bludget’s tongue cuts like a razor; 
cuts everybody, friend and foe. And with the 
cut he sometimes flings the venom of malice 
into the wound, which keeps it festering for a 
long while. He rarely refuses to give to the 
needy—but the poor beggar must be always 
reminded that some people are poor of their 
own fault; they are too lazy to work, squan¬ 
der their earnings for liquor, or are otherwise 
thriftless. He gives to religious objects, but 
always with a groan. This everlasting beg¬ 
ging of church people is a great annoyance. 
Besides, who knows that the collectors do not 
keep part of the money they receive. The 




Codfeb £ongue 


125 


truth is, Dick bristles all over like a porcu¬ 
pine. His surly, gruff manners drive his friends 
from him. He seems surcharged with an ele¬ 
ment of repulsion, which centres in his tongue. 
This is a sort of negative magnet. It emits 
sparks whenever touched, like an electric bat¬ 
tery, and the sparks are always repellant. He 
is fond of his children, yet never has a gentle 
word for them. He thinks he has the best 
wife in the world, yet for weeks has naught but 
biting, surly words for her, and scarcely ever 
smiles in her presence. The dear soul bears 
his boorish grunts with the most amiable and 
forgiving spirit. Sweet, timid Katie is going 
on six years and has not received six kisses 
from her papa since she was born. Yet Blud- 
get is not without kind and tender traits in his 
character. Only he has a bad way of showing 
them. His vinegar manners seem to have be¬ 
come a second nature to him. His tongue is 
coated, the symptom of a disordered system. 

One afternoon Mr. Norris called on Mrs. 
Mandrake, one of his parishioners. Nothing 
could exceed the cordiality with which he was 
received. George brought the news the day 
before that the pastor was coming. He found 
her immersed in household cares, as well she 




126 


(precept cmb (practice 


might be. Half a dozen children and only one 
servant brings work and worry to the good 
housewife. Mr. Norris was scarcely seated, 
when her voluble tongue began its random 
chattering. ‘ ‘ How you take us by surprise, 
Mr. Norris. Had I only known that you were 
coming. And how is Mrs. Norris?—Here, 
Tommie, get off that chair, you good for noth¬ 
ing brat, you. Bridget, where are you again ? 
Why don’t you see after the children?—Yes, 
and Mrs. Norris is well, is she? How sorry I 
am that you have not brought her with you. 
—Here, Katie. Bless me, the child has fallen 
into the ash-pan. (Said ash-pan standing on 
the kitchen door-steps. Poor Katie gives vent 
to her sorrows in shrill screams). Now, just 
see there, Bridget; it is too bad with these 
stupid, careless girls.—And how are the chil¬ 
dren, Mr. Norris?—Sallie, Sallie ; see here, 
lay down that dish-rag and come here this 
minute.—Do take this rocking chair, Mr. 
Norris. I dare say—Bridget, why don’t you 
drive the chickens out of the garden? Don’t 
you see how they are ruining my flower-beds ? 
Yes, I dare say you are very tired. 

“ Are there many sick people in the—Bet- 
tie, why in the world don’t you leave that 





Codfeb tongue 


127 


broom alone ?—You see, Mr. Norris, what a 
trouble I have with these children. Folks 
that have little children, you know, will have 
care. And—Now, just see here again. That 
child has opened and emptied that drawer on 
the floor. ” 

Mrs. Mandrake bites her lips, and spanks 
the offender, amid shouts of juvenile grief. 

u I am so sorry that Mr. Mandrake is not at 
home. I expect—Bridget, stir up that fire in 
the range, and get the things ready for tea. 
Now hurry yourself, and don’t poke about 
again until sundown.—And how is the baby, 
Mr. Norris? The dear, sweet soul. Has it 
commenced teeth—Here, Bell, get off that 
garden gate this minute. You good for noth¬ 
ing girl would swing it off its hinges.” 

u Indeed, it is too bad, Mr. Norris, that I 
have not seen the baby yet. I shall certainly 
pay Mrs. Norris—Bridget, hurry on with your 
work. ’ ’ 

Tea is ready. Mr. Mandrake has returned ; 
a quiet, sensible gentleman of few words, but 
those always to the point. Around a large 
table, covered with a snow white table cloth, 
and laden with five times the necessary quan¬ 
tity of food, the larger children, father, and 




128 


(precepf <tnb (fhrdcftce 


guest are seated. Grace having been said by 
the pastor, the head of the family fills his plate 
and entertains him in a becoming manner, but 
not without many interruptions. 

“ Mr. Norris, how sorry I am that I knew 
nothing of your coming. Please excuse this 
poor and hastily prepared supper. Mr. Man¬ 
drake, why don’t you help Mr. Norris to some 
more fowl and roast beef? Do let me help 
you to a piece of fresh sausage. Yes, and a 
plate of oysters you will certainly not refuse. 
Papa, help him to some of the fried oysters. 
I feel too sorry that you did not send us word 
of your coming. It is a shame to offer you 
such a meagre meal.” 

Poor Mr. Norris wonders how any body can 
talk so. At length comes the beginnings of 
desserts—four kinds of pie, two kinds of cus¬ 
tards, two kinds of pudding, three kinds of 
cakes, apples, raisins, oranges, nuts, &c., &c. 
Toward the close the plot thickens. Mrs. Man¬ 
drake nervously hurries around the table, and 
insists on her pastor eating of every article on 
it, and chides him with ceaseless volubility for 
not doing so. “Why, Mr. Norris, are you 
sick? Why, you don’t eat. You are not 
troubled with the dyspepsia ? Dear me, you 




Ccxtfeb Cottgue 


129 


eat hardly anything. Do let me help you to 
some more pie.—” The poor pastor had be¬ 
come weary with polite refusals, and left his 
garrulous hostess rattle away to her heart’s 
content. As they rose from the table, she re¬ 
marked : “Now, Mr. Norris, I ask one favor 
of you. Please call to see us again, but let us 
know when you are coming. For it is so mor- 
tifving to offer such a poor supper to one’s 
friends.” But for this lady’s coated tongue 
her pastor could not have discovered the 
symptoms of her diseased spirit. Good Mrs. 
Mandrake meant it well with her pastor. Her 
way of showing her kindness was by means of 
a sumptuous meal. But what a sad glimpse 
did the pastor’s brief visit give him of the state 
of her heart—and he saw it all on her coated 
tongue. 

“ It is known that a large class of persons are 
disposed to speak ill of others ; and tattling is 
a sin, from which lew can claim to be entirely 
exempt; but there is a distinct class of tat¬ 
tlers, who make tale-bearing the constant aim 
of their lives. They pry into the private af¬ 
fairs of every family in the neighborhood; they 
know the exact state of a neighbor’s feelings 


9 




13 ° 


(precept ani> (practice 


toward another; they understand everybody’s 
faults ; no blunder or impropriety escapes their 
vigilant watchfulness. They are particularly 
posted up in everything connected with court¬ 
ship and matrimony—know who are to marry, 
and can guess the exact time when it will take 
place. They watch every movement of per¬ 
sons suspected of matrimonial intention ; if 
there is the slightest chance to create a disturb¬ 
ance, excite a jealousy, or break up a match, 
they take immediate advantage of it, and do 
all in their power to keep people in constant 
vexation. They go from gentleman to lady, 
from mother to daughter, from father to son ; 
and in the ears of all they pour black and bit¬ 
ter whispers of slander and abuse, and at the 
same time pretend to be the sincere friends of 
those they talk to. Their black and nauseous 
pills of malicious slander are coated with smiles 
and professions of love. Tattlers are confined 
to no particular class of society. They belong 
to all classes and operate in all. We have 
them among the rich and the poor—the ‘ up¬ 
per ten’ and ‘ lower million’—in the Church 
and out of it. They are people who have no 
higher ambition than to be well informed in 




Coafeb tongue 


131 


regard to other people’s business ; to retail 
scandal to the neighbors and exult in the 
fiendish triumphs over the bruised heart and 
wounded feelings of a victim. ” And in all this 
they but lt put out” their coated tongue, en¬ 
abling everybody to see the vileness of their 
hearts. 




132 


(precept anb (practice 


® ^frottg Cotter 


FOURTEEN 

“The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the 
righteous runneth into it and is safe.”—Prov. 18:10. 

GH MILLER gives the following 
singular instance of deliverance 
from danger by means of prayer : 
A Scotch Highlander, who served 
in the first disastrous war with 
the American colonies, was brought one 
evening before his commanding officer, 
charged with the capital offence of being 
in communication with the enemy. The 
charge could not well be preferred at a more 
dangerous time. Only a few weeks had elapsed 
since the execution of Major Andre, and the 
indignation of the British, exasperated almost 
to madness by the event, had not yet cooled 
down. There was, however, no direct proof 
against the Highlander. He had been seen in 
the gray of the twilight, stealing out from a 
clump of underwood that bordered on one of 







Strong Zowcv 


133 


the huge forests, which, at that period, covered 
by much the greater part of the United 
Provinces, and which, in the immediate neigh¬ 
borhood of the British, swarmed with the troops 
of Washington. All the rest was mere in¬ 
ference and conjecture. The poor man’s de¬ 
fence was summed up in a few words. He had 
stolen away from his fellows, he said, to spend 
an hour in private prayer. 

“ Have you been in the habit of spending 
hours in private prayer?” sternly asked the 
officer, himself a Scotchman and a Presby¬ 
terian. 

The Highlander replied in the affirmative. 

“Then,” said the other, drawing out his 
watch, “never in all your life had you more 
need of prayer than now ; kneel down, sir, and 
pray aloud, that we may all hear you.” 

The Highlander, in the expectation of in¬ 
stant death, knelt down. His prayer was that 
of one long acquainted with the appropriate 
language in which the Christian addresses his 
God. It breathed of imminent peril, and ear¬ 
nestly implored the Divine interposition in the 
threatened danger—the help of Him who, in 
times of extremity, is strong to deliver. It 
exhibited, in short, a man who, thoroughly 




134 


(precept aitb (practice 


conversant with the scheme of Redemption, 
and fully impressed with the necessity of a 
personal interest in the advantages which it 
secures, had made the business of salvation 
the work of many a solitary hour, and had, in 
consequence, acquired much fluency in expres¬ 
sing all his various wants as they occurred, 
and thoughts and wishes as they arose. 

“You may go, sir,” said the officer, as he 
concluded ; “ you have, I dare say, not been in 
correspondence with the enemy tonight. ” 

“His statement,” he continued, addressing 
himself to the other officers, “is, I doubt not, 
perfectly correct. No one could have prayed 
so without a long apprenticeship ; fellows who 
have never attended drill, always get on ill at 
review.” 

During our late Civil War a Sunday-school 
convention was held in Kentucky. The place 
of meeting was between the contending ar¬ 
mies. The delegates had to pass the line of 
one or the other, yet they held the convention 
without being molested by either. 

An earnest Sunday-school missionary in 
their employ, since then gone to his reward, 
was an out and out Union man. He had some 
difficulty in passing Gen. Bragg’s pickets. 




($. Cower 


135 


He had a mortal dread of the rebel Gen. 
Morgan and of his savage deeds. On this 
subject the amiable, godly missionary had de¬ 
cided views. For Morgan no punishment 
could be too severe, he thought—not even 
hanging or burning. “Beware lest Morgan 
will catch you,” said a friend. 

“Never you fear, I shall see to that,” was 
his brave reply. But Morgan did catch him. 

He had the rare fortune, for a missionary, of 
having a valuable fleet horse. To his sorrow 
he found that “a horse is a vain thing for 
safety.” In trying to pass the enemies’ out¬ 
posts he was arrested, and, of course, taken 
before Morgan, the object of his horror. 

“ Where are you going, sir ?” asked Morgan 
sharply. 

“ To start a Sunday-school at Goose Creek.” 

“A Sunday-school! That’s a likely story ! 
You look like a Sunday-school man! They 
don’t ride that kind of horses, not much. Got 
anything to show ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, here’s my commission.” 

This had been signed by Rev. John McCul- 
lagh, who for thirty years had been an earnest 
Sunday-school worker in the State. 




136 


(precept dnb (ptdeftce 


“ I don’t know anything about these chaps 
(some of the names on his paper) only old 
Mack—I know him. I heard him preach 
when I wasn’t knee-high to a duck. Can you 
sing? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

He begins his song with a trembling voice ; 
and no wonder. It may be his death song. 
Whose heart would not rise into his throat 
when singing for such hearers ? The next 
minute their rifles may seal his fate. He sings 
of Jesus, the crucified Saviour. His voice 
possesses no extra charms, its trembling ceases 
at the end of a few lines. His soul is on fire 
with his theme. He sings of a Saviour’s love 
and sings for dear life, and should life here 
end, he’ll sing his soul to heaven. 

It was a picture for an artist. The rude 
surroundings of the camp and army. The 
officers seated on their horses. The rough, 
hard-looking men, with bronzed faces and 
weather-beaten garments, standing around in 
groups, leaning on their rifles. The mission¬ 
ary, with hat in hand, laying the bridle on 
the graceful mane of his horse, soon forgot 
Morgan and impending death in his sweet 
theme. The charm of music, and of the 




strong €owv 


137 


simple hymns, the power of association, bring¬ 
ing vividly to mind their Sunday-school mem¬ 
ories, their firesides, and groups of children 
who nightly prayed for dear papa and brother 
in the army, melted the hearts of these South¬ 
ern warriors, as snow melts before a vernal 
sun. Even Morgan’s eyes moistened and his 
strong men wept like children. 

After the captured missionary had sung for 
a while, Morgan’s shrill voice rang out, 
“Boys, this chap is all right. Eet him go.” 




(precept anb (practice 


138 


^off ($netx>er0 


FIFTEEN 

“Finally, be ye all of one mind, having compassion 
one of another; love as brethren, be pitiful, be cour¬ 
teous.” 

INNING manners are a desirable 
and rare accomplishment. It is 
strange that they should be rare, 
for they are not very diffcult to 
acquire. For many people, if the 
proper efforts are made, it is just as easy to 
practice courtesy as rudeness toward others. 
The other day, in passing through a certain 
crowded car, I accidentally struck the hat of 
a stranger on a seat. I quickly turned round 
and asked his pardon, which apology he re¬ 
ceived with a ferocious scowl, as much as to 
say : ‘ 4 Clear out, or I shall kick you out of 
the car.” I thought that I had done the right 
thing ; whether he did the same I shall let the 
reader judge. 

It is said that on one of Thackeray’s visits 
to New York, he was eager to form the ac- 







I^off @.net»et 6 


139 


quaintance of the Bowery boys, who have ac¬ 
quired quite a reputation for rude repartee. 
Perhaps he was in search of material for a fu¬ 
ture work of fiction. Walking through the 
Bowery, he at length found one of these little 
Arabs on a street corner. Here was a chance 
to study the Bowery boy. Thackeray was a 
very dignified gentleman, whose polished man¬ 
ners and stately bearing were calculated to im¬ 
press even his equals. How would they im¬ 
press the boy ? 

He opened the conversation by asking the 
way to another street. 

“ Boy, I should like very much to go to 
Broadway.” 

With an oath, he answered, 4 ‘ Why don’t you 
go there?” There ended Thackeray’s study 
of the Bowery boys. 

There are few places where good and bad 
manners come more prominently to view than 
on the streets. You can often tell from the 
way people pass you on the crossings whether 
they possess the true spirit of a gentleman or 
lady. Some will walk three abreast, without 
making room for those passing them, even if 
they push them over the curb-stones. 




140 


(precept anb (practice 


I am not given to great admiration of the 
French character. But in matters of true 
civility and politeness commend me to the 
French. Take the following as an instance 
told by Robert Dale Owen : 

“ I had heard, as every one has, of the politeness for 
which the French of all classes are famous ; and I re¬ 
solved strictly to test it. 

“On one of the crowded boulevards (of Paris) I saw 
one day a woman who might be of any age from sixty to 
eighty, sitting bowed as with infirmity, over a stall 
loaded with apples and oranges ; her wrinkled face the 
color of time-stained parchment, her eyes half closed, 
and her whole expression betokening stolid sadness and 
habitual suffering. I made no offer to buy, but doffed 
my hat to her, as one instinctively does in France when 
addressing any woman, told her I was a stranger, that I 
desired to reach such a street, naming it, and begged that 
she would have the goodness to direct me thither. 

“I shall never forget the transformation that took 
place while I was speaking. The crouched figure erected 
itself; the face awoke, its stolid look and half its wrink¬ 
les, as it seemed, gone ; the apparent sullenness replaced 
by a gentle and kindly air ; while the voice was pitched 
in a pleasant and courteous tone. It said, ‘Monsieur will 
be so good as to cross the boulevard just here, then to 
pass on, leaving two cross-streets behind him ; at the 
third cross-street he will please turn to the right, and 
then he will be so kind as to descend that street until he 
shall have passed the cathedral and another cross-street— 
and so on through sundry other turnings and windings. 




(gtiuwere 


141 


“I thanked the good woman, but begged that she 
would have the kindness to repeat her directions, as I 
feared to forget them. This she did, word for word, with 
the utmost patience and bonhommie , accompanying her 
speech, as she had done before, with little appropriate 
gestures. I was sorely tempted to offer her a piece of 
money. But something restrained me, and I am satisfied 
that she did not expect it. So I merely took off my hat 
a second time, bowed and bade her farewell. She dis¬ 
missed me as gracefully as a grande dame of the Faubourg 
St. Germain might some visitor to her gorgeous boudoir.” 

How very attractive are persons of such 
manners. They compel others to admire and 
love them. I can never forget the impression 
first made on me by the crowds of village chil¬ 
dren in Germany. Wherever I passed them, 
whether at play or on their way to school, or 
from it, every boy would lift his cap and salute 
me. It was simply a trifle, but one that gave 
a clue to their training and character. 

William Wirt’s letter to his daughter, on the 
“small, sweet courtesies of life,” contains a 
passage from which a great deal of happiness 
might be learned. 

‘ ‘ I want to tell you a secret. The way to make yourself 
pleasant to others is to show them attention. The whole 
world is like the miller at Mansfield, 4 who cared for no- 
body—no, not he, because nobody cared for him.’ And 
the whole world would serve you so, if you gave them 




142 


precept 4nb (practice 


the cause. Let people see that you do care for them 
by showing them what Sterne so happily called the small 
courtesies, in which there is no parade, whose voice is too 
still to tease, and which manifest themselves by tender 
and affectionate looks and little acts of attention, giving 
others the preference in every little employment, at the 
table, in the field, walking, sitting, and standing.” 

It is remarkable that one half-hour’s sum¬ 
mer sunshine deflects the vast mass of the 
Brittania Tubular Bridge more than all the 
dead weight which could be placed upon it. 
What a tribute to the might of gentleness ! 

That school-child made a good reply who 
said that meek people were those who “ give 
soft answers to rough questions.” But how 
far the world is from taking the scriptural 
standard, and considering meekness a valuable 
quality, we may learn by a common use of the 
word. Who would like to have said of him, 
as of Moses, that he was M very meek ?” 
Something mean-spirited would be the popu¬ 
lar acceptation ; nobody would understand the 
words to express any enviable virtue if used in 
the degenerate conversation of to-day. And 
yet, how does the Giver of all blessings signal¬ 
ize the meek ? They are among His specially 
blessed—“ they shall inherit the earth.” 




^oft (g-newre 


H3 


A gentleman came to Sir Eardley Wilmot 
in great wrath at an injury he had suffered 
from some person high in worldly position, and 
was considering how he could best show his 
resentment. “Would it be manly to resent 
it?” “ Yes, but God-like to forgive it.” The 
idea had an instantly soothing effect, and he 
left that interview, thinking no longer of re¬ 
venge. 

It is related of Anthony Blanc, one of the ear¬ 
liest converts made by Felix Neff, that when he 
was struck on the head by an opponent of the 
truth, he said, “ May God forgive and bless 
you.” The other exclaimed in a fury that he 
would kill him. Some days afterward An¬ 
thony met this man in a narrow Alpine 
road, and fully expected to be struck again, 
but, to his amazement, a hand was outstretched 
with the heartfelt words, “ Mr. Blanc, can you 
forgive me ?” The soft answer to his blow 
had softened his heart, “breaking the bone.” 

Does not Sir Matthew Hale seem the greater 
man when we recall his reply to Cromwell’s 
angry speech, “ My lord justice, you are not 
fit to be a judge.” Hale had refused to lend 
himself to some arbitrary action, and his only 
answer to the Protector’s words was, “Please 




144 


(pxzupt ctnb Qf>r<xcttce 


your highness, it is very true.” His great, 
upright soul was crowned with humility; a 
source of many of the hard answers which 
create life’s angry altercations is pride. 

There is great wisdom in soft answers ; for 
the speaker is so apt to win the day, and gain 
his own object in the end. De Quincey tells 
of himself, that when travelling once on the 
roof of a coach, he fell asleep from weariness 
and weakness, being at the time in bad health, 
and lurched against another passenger, who 
awoke him with much surliness, and com¬ 
plained morosely of this invasion of his com¬ 
fort. De Quincey apologized, said he was 
unwell, but would do what he could to avoid 
falling asleep for the future. Nature would 
not be coerced, however, and he was soon 
slumbering again, when he felt the arm of his 
surly neighbor passed around him to prevent 
his falling ; and in all stages of his journey 
thereafter he acted with the tenderness of a 
woman toward the invalid. 

Much practical philosophy lies in the saying 
of one little boy to another, “Don’t speak so 
cross ; there’s no use in it.” Truly no use for 
anything beneficial or pleasant, but much use 
for the inflaming of discord and establishment 




£off $tt0Wf£S 


145 


of malice. Especially in domestic life is the 
sharp answer one of Satan’s choice engines for 
the creation of all uncharitableness. And those 
who can refrain from it under provocation 
have achieved a great victory over themselves. 
One of the most tried and holy women who 
ever acted thus was described by her celebrated 
son, Augustine : “ She had learned not to resist 
an angry husband ; not in deed, only, but even 
in word. Only when he was smooth and 
tranquil she would give an account of her 
actions, if haply he had taken offence. In a 
word, while many matrons, who had milder 
husbands, would in familiar talk blame their 
husbands’ lives, she would blame those wives’ 
tongue. And they, knowing what a choleric 
husband she endured, marvelled that it could 
never be perceived that Patricus had beaten 
her, or there had been any domestic difference 
between them.” And how closely the meek 
spirit is allied to that of the peace-maker in 
the next beatitude we may gather from Augus¬ 
tine’s further words: “This great gift also 
Thou bestowedst, O my God, on that good 
handmaid of Thine, that, between any dis¬ 
cordant parties, when hearing on both sides 
most bitter things, such as swelling and undi- 


10 




146 


(precept <x«b (practice 


gested choler causes to break forth, she never 
would disclose aught but what would tend to 
their own reconcilement.” Short-lived would 
be the strifes of the world did every body act 
like Monica. 

There are a few sweet, placid tempers to 
whom the “soft answer” comes comparatively 
easy ; but with most persons it must be the 
fruit of resolute self-control and self-conquest 
of a habit of mind produced by watchfulness 
and prayer. One can sympathize with the 
passionate school-boy who, pondering on this 
subject, asked another, “What soft thing is 
very hard?” and explained his meaning thus, 
“If it is not a hard thing for a fellow to give 
a soft answer when lie’s right down vexed, 
then I don’t know where you will find any¬ 
thing that’s hard.” 

But, if the school-boy learns the lesson, the 
man will have less difficulty in putting it into 
use. “The beginning of strife is as when one 
letteth out water,” and the soft answer will al¬ 
ways enable us to “ leave off contention before 
it be meddled with.” Yet how easily we jus¬ 
tify ourselves in this wrong-doing, prompted 
by the demon, Pride ! How quickly does the 
sharp retort leap to the lips, how clever we 






147 


deem ourselves when the thrust (probably as 
poisoned as we could make it) has been given ! 
We do not remember that this, like other hu¬ 
man temptations, was met and conquered by 
our Great Examplar ; we do not consider Him 
who endured such contradiction of sinners 
against Himself, “who, when He was reviled, 
reviled not again; when He suffered, He 
threatened not,” although the twelve legions 
of angels stood ready at His call. 





143 


(precept ditb (practice 


'Rttott&bge {0 (potter 

SIXTEEN 

11 HE greatest of all forces is moral 
force. Knowledge is the most 
powerful, when consecrated to 
Christ. Unsanctified knowledge 
is a power for evil. Far better 
had it been for the world, if Voltaire and Tom 
Paine had been unlearned men. Then Paine 
could not have cursed mankind with the Age 
of Reason, nor Voltaire turned the laugh of 
his admirers on that Saviour of sinners, to 
whom he remorsefully cried in his dying hour. 
Apart from the religious aspect of this subject, 
there is a marvelous power in scientific knowl¬ 
edge. Diligent scholars, who strive to learn 
clearly and well the lessons which they study, 
whether at school or at home, are learning to 
wield a power greater than that of royal scep¬ 
tres. In a day school in Genoa, there once 
was a certain studious boy, whom his comrades 
called Christopher Columbus. He hung to his 
books as a thirsty child presses the cup of cold 
water to its lips. He needed no urging to 







(Ettottfebge te (pother 


149 


learn his lessons thoroughly. Little did his 
teacher think, as he heard him recite his les¬ 
sons in geography, that his studious pupil 
would one day discover a new world. After 
four hundred years the continent he discovered 
has been covered with the most stirring, active 
nation of modern times. Would the United 
States be what they are, or be at all, had not 
little Christopher Columbus learned well his 
lessons in the Genoese school ? 

In a certain printing office in Boston there 
was a printer’s apprentice. All his fragments 
of leisure he spent in reading. He had but a 
limited education, such as he procured by a 
few months’ annual study in the ordinary day 
schools. Owing to a dislike of mathematics 
he had neglected his arithmetic at school. 
Later the apprentice repented of his folly, pro¬ 
cured the necessary books, and at the age of 
fourteen mastered, without the help of a 
teacher, the different branches of mathematics, 
and studied navigation. He read translations 
of the ancient classics, as well as some of the 
best English authors. At twenty-seven years 
of age he began the study of the languages, 
which his previous want of means prevented 
him from doing. He says : “In 1773 I had 




(precept anb (practice 


150 


begun to study languages. I soon made myself 
so much a master of the French as to be able to 
read the books in that language with ease. I 
then undertook the Italian. An acquaintance, 
who was also learning it,often used to tempt me 
to play chess with him. Finding that this took 
up too much of the time I had to spare for 
study, I at length refused to play any more, 
unless on this condition—that the victor in 
every game should have a right to impose a task, 
either of parts of the grammar to be got by 
heart, or in translations, etc., which task the 
vanquished was to perform upon honor before 
our next meeting. As we played pretty 
equally, we thus beat one another into that 
language. I afterwards, with a little painstak¬ 
ing, acquired as much of the Spanish as to read 
their books also. I had only one year’s in¬ 
struction in a Latin school, and that when very 
young, after which I neglected that language 
entirely. But, when I had attained an ac¬ 
quaintance with the French, Spanish, and Ital¬ 
ian, I was surprised in looking over a Latin 
Testament, that I understood more of that lan¬ 
guage than I had imagined, which encouraged 
me to apply myself to the study of it again, 
and I met with more success, as those preced- 




(Knowfebge ta (power 


151 


ing languages had greatly smoothed my way.” 

By and by the printer became a publisher, 
an author, a statesman, and an ambassador to 
foreign courts. And, more than all, he taught 
mankind to harness the lightning, and make 
it the fleet-footed bearer of intelligence around 
the globe. Few people now think of the 
Boston printer’s apprentice, with a thirsting 
mind poring over his books, acquiring knowl¬ 
edge under difficulties, in connection with 
the power and incalculable influence of the 
electric telegraph, which has taught the light¬ 
ning to flash intelligence over the surface of 
the earth. In the small, cramped, dingy print¬ 
ing office, with a few type-cases around him, 
the studious apprentice, with the help of a 
dimly burning tallow candle, hunts for knowl¬ 
edge till after midnight. While the more 
favored boys of wealthy parents are snugly 
asleep in their comfortable beds, or carousing 
about in places of sin, his inquiring mind 
searches for the precious pearl of truth. Who 
now mentions with honor or respect the more 
fortunate boys ? They would have disdained 
the society of humble, hard-working Benjamin 
Franklin, whose memory is revered through¬ 
out the civilized world. What a power in the 




152 


(precept attb (practice 


electric telegraph ! In germ it was in Frank¬ 
lin’s mind. More powerful than all the post- 
horses and coaches, the mail steamers, and all 
other postal methods of ancient and modern 
times, is the secret which the Boston printer- 
boy reveals to the world. 

More than four hundred and fifty years ago 
a plodding, hard-working boy daily sat and 
studied in his accustomed seat in one of the 
parish schools of Mayence on the Rhine. He 
afterward became the inventor of the art of 
printing, and the incalculable power of the 
printing press, multiplying and circulating 
knowledge in a thousand untold forms, stands 
in this parish school room. Well may the 
people of Mayence feel proud of their former 
burgher, Johannes Gutenberg, to whose mem¬ 
ory they have erected a grand bronze statue by 
Thorwaldsen, in one of the market places of 
their venerable city. 

In the large square of St. Peter’s at Rome 
stands a large obelisk, composed of a solid 
piece of polished granite, supposed to be the 
largest in the world. It was originally brought 
from Egypt. It is seventy-two feet high, 
twelve feet square at the base, and eight feet 
square at the top. It is said to be three thou- 




(Rnotefebge to $ower 


153 


sand years old. It was found among the ruins 
of an old building in Rome, called the Circus 
of Nero. There it had lain buried for ages. 
But it was dug out, and cleaned, and set up 
among the other beautiful monuments in front 
of St. Peter’s. It was a very difficult job to 
move it. The obelisk was supposed to weigh 
about four hundred and seventy tons. Finally, 
it was removed to the place appointed for it. 
There, a pedestal of solid stone, thirty feet 
high, was built for it to stand on. But to get 
that heavy mass on the top of the pedestal was 
no easy matter. A skilful architect made all 
the necessary preparations. He got all the 
machinery ready, with the windlasses, blocks, 
ropes, tackling, and other implements. The 
day for setting up the obelisk was a grand hol¬ 
iday in Rome. All the people turned out to 
witness the sight. The better to preserve 
order, a proclamation was issued that, while 
the work was going on, no one, except those 
employed in the work, should speak a loud 
word, on pain of being put into prison. At 
last the arrangements are all made, and the 
order given to hoist. The wheels go round, 
the ropes move, the blocks creak, and the 
obelisk begins to rise. The people watch it 




154 


(pveupt Anb (practice 


with great excitement, but in breathless 
silence. Higher and higher it goes. Every¬ 
thing seems to work well ; and still it rises till 
it is within five or six inches of the place ap¬ 
pointed for it, when suddenly it stops ! What 
is the matter? The ropes have stretched so 
much that the blocks have come together too 
soon. They can’t get it any higher. There 
it hangs dangling in the air. The people are 
disappointed. The architect is dreadfully ex¬ 
cited. He was just on the point of ordering it 
to be lowered to the ground again, when an 
English sailor, in the crowd, who had been 
watching the operation, sang out, at the top of 
his voice, “ Wet the ropes ! Wet the ropes !” 
He had learned that, when new ropes are wet, 
they always shrink, and become shorter. This 
scrap of knowledge was very useful now. The 
architect saw that this would do it. They 
shrank at once, and the obelisk was landed in 
the place intended for it. The sailor was put 
in prison. The next day he was brought up 
for trial, when he was condemned to receive a 
large sum of money for the fragment of knowl¬ 
edge which he had gathered up, and which was 
so very useful in that time of need. Jack took 
the punishment without a word of complaint. 




Gftt tit ffle <Bfd 66 


155 


^naRe in f$e (Btfaee 

SEVENTEEN 

“You have heard of ‘the snake in the grass,’ my boy, 
Of the terrible snake in the grass ; 

But now you must know, 

Man’s deadliest foe 
Is a snake of a different class, 

Alas! 

’Tis the venomous snake in the glass / ” 

—Saxe. 

“ I saw in Venice a picture of the day of Judgment, 
by Tintoretto. In this picture both Paradise and Hell 
were portrayed. I saw in Paradise a lovely woman, 
glowing with youth, beauty and grace. She was reclin¬ 
ing in a most enchanting attitude, upon a bed of roses, 
and surrounded by angels. Below on the other half of 
the picture—that is to say, in hell—I saw the same 
woman ; she had no couch of roses, but was stretched 
upon a glowing gridiron ; no smiling angels surrounded 
her, but a hideous, grinning devil tore her flesh with red 
hot pincers.”— h. Miihlbach. 

HUS have I seen many a picture in 
real life. A lovely young lady is 
fascinated by an attractive but un¬ 
principled young man. After the 
(t honeymoon ” his low life takes its own 
way. Now she is penniless, unprotected, an 
object of charity. Between her gay wedding 









156 (precept anb (practice 

day and the present, on what a gridiron has 
she been tormented ! 

On a bright summer morning, about sun¬ 
rise, there was a ring at my door bell. A 
short, energetic ring, as by the hands of some 
one on a pressing, serious business. A young 
man of about twenty-five was led into the 
parlor. His dark, unkempt hair, sooty-look- 
ing hands and face, and neglected garments 
gave him the appearance of one who had been 
on the street, or in a place worse than that all 
night. His tall, graceful form, his manners 
and language were those of a man of some 
culture. His wild and wierd look, his ner¬ 
vous, restless conduct at once excited my sus¬ 
picion. 

u Parson,” said he, “will you please give 
me a few pennies to buy medicine? I feel so 
wretched. ” 

“What is the matter?” I replied. 

“ Well, to tell the truth, I have been drink¬ 
ing hard, and have walked the streets all night. 
You may possibly notice that I am threatened 
with delirium tremens. For God’s sake give 
me a few pennies to buy medicine at the drug 
store to keep it off. I fear I may do violence 
to myself.” 




£$e ttt t$e 


157 


u Who are you ? Where do you come from ? 
What ha\e you been doing?” 

He then in a few words gave me a sad ac¬ 
count of his life. The son of a Baptist min¬ 
ister, in another place. Tenderly cared for in 
his you h by pious parents. For years a scholar 
in a Sunday-school. After he left home he 
filled the position of clerk and salesman in dif¬ 
ferent places. Had good salaries, and for a 
time mingled with Christian people. Then he 
fell in with persons of loose habits. At first 
he took an occasional glass. Fondness for 
strong liquor grew on him. His habits drew 
fast young men around him. He soon became 
a slave to strong drink. Lost his position, and 
his standing in society. Good people repeat¬ 
edly took him by the hand, and tried all they 
could in his reformation. Many sincere prom¬ 
ises and resolutions were made and unmade. 
For a little while he kept sober, then with a 
feeling of desperation he flew back to his cups. 

He had recently been salesman in one of 
our stores, got drunk, and was discharged. 
Then drank more desperately. Last night he 
spent his last cent for liquor. Those who sold 
it to him most like y refused to give him a 
bed without pay. He wildly wandered through 




i5» 


(precept anb (practice 


the streets. Now he turned up in our parlor 
at sunrise, and plead for a pittance to relieve 
him, if only for a few moments, of delirium 
tremens ; or from suicide. He gave me a 
frank, straightforward story. How he be¬ 
wailed his fall and folly, but had no self-con¬ 
trol ; no power over the demon of strong 
drink. He interspersed the brief, sad story of 
his life with snatches of entreaties. “ O, 
please give me only a few pennies ; I am filled 
with horror. I must have speedy relief. ” 

A certain family have an only son. Their 
ample means and comfortable home gave him 
many advantages over his companions. A 
fine-looking, manly boy I remember him to 
have been. He received a good education, 
studied law, was admitted to the bar. Mean¬ 
while he chose his associates from an unchris¬ 
tian class of young men. They spent their 
evenings and nights in drinking and indulging 
in other vices. Ere long he made his home 
chiefly in drinking saloons. He lost his prac¬ 
tice and the confidence and respect of his fel¬ 
lows. Headlong he rushed to ruin. All of a 
sudden he saw strange visions. Reptiles, 
snakes and all manner of creeping things. His 
brain teemed with these ubiquitous animals, 




tn f$e djfdse 


159 


haunting him by day and by night. It was 
the venomous “ snake in the glass. ” His sor¬ 
rowing parents spare no means to reform him. 
Alas, thus far without success. He wanders 
about from one den to another, seeking rest 
and finding none. Discarding his loving 
parents, their counsel, prayers and comfortable 
home for the wild orgies and dreary resorts of 
his profligate companions. In torment almost 
infernal, when his inebriate delirium seizes 
him, vainly seeking medical relief from his 
horror. When it abates he rushes to his cups 
again. 

Twenty years ago he was a fine Sunday-school 
boy. A cheerful and chubby scholar, beloved 
by his teacher and his class. Alas, for the day 
when he first walked in the counsel of the un¬ 
godly. Then he was not yet possessed with the 
demon of strong drink. Perhaps took his first 
spree for the fun of the thing. Now he is a 
moral wreck, although scarcely thirty years of 
age. 

Some years ago a certain young man was 
married. They had a gay wedding. Many 
friends admired and greeted them. Ere long 
he fell into loose habits. He spent his nights 
among his low-bred companions. A finely- 




i6o 


(precept anb (practice 


furnished home, a loving wife, and sweet 
children had less attractions for him than 
places of sinful resort. After the habit of 
drinking had been formed, he seemed dis¬ 
gusted with and weary of his intemperate life, 
yet he was held enslaved by it. Now and 
then he had horrid visions of “ the snake in 
the glass.” A few weeks ago he was seized 
with one of his attacks of delirium tremens. 
He saw Satan incarnate in his room, and en¬ 
treated his friends to protect him. His screams 
of agony were heart-rending. “ There ! there 
he is coming again to take me ! O, take him 
away ! I will not go ! 1 will not go with 

you !” Deathly sick as he was, he would 
have rushed away from his home wiih the 
hope of escaping from the evil one, had he not 
been held by others. He screamed with ter¬ 
ror until a few hours before his death. He 
died of u the snake in the glass.” 

On a certain day I passed a man on the 
street. He walked pretty steadily, for it was 
before nine o’clock in the morning. Before 
night he reeled home drunk. For this was his 
daily habit, whenever he could get the money 
to buy liquor. He was not yet forty-five, bad 
a charming but heartbroken wife with three 




^nafte tn iS>t <&t dee 


161 


lovely daughters. His father was a man of 
wealth. Thirty years ago this man was a Sun¬ 
day-school scholar. A nice, tidy lad, the envy 
of the boys in his class. For his father was 
rich. Hived in a fine mansion. His family 
rode in a showy carriage. The boy had fine 
prospects. Aside of him in the class sat a poor 
lad scantily clothed. His father was a day la¬ 
borer, who lived in a small hut, and had hard 
work to pay his rent and support his family. 
But he was a godly man, and sought to train 
up his boy piously. In due time the poor boy 
became an apprentice, a good mechanic. He 
started business for himself. By his honest 
and thrifty habits he gained the confidence and 
patronage of the community. The boy poor 
then is now the rich man, living in a fine man¬ 
sion, surrounded by a happy family. The boy 
with bright prospects then is now a sot without 
character, credit, or self-respect. He has often 
been haunted by “ the snake in the glass.” 

Go with me down this alley. We will call 
on a man, once in affluence. For years a con¬ 
sistent member of a certain church, the com¬ 
panion and counsellor of good people. At 
length he became acquainted with a person of 
pleasing manners. The two soon found others 


ii 




162 


(precept dnb (practice 

to enlarge their social circle. Without intend¬ 
ing any harm at first, this man mingled with 
his associates, visited club rooms ; learned to 
love a game of cards, then imbibed a passion 
for it. Of course, cards and liquor go together. 
He played and drank. Ere long his business 
was neglected, his patrons forsook him, his 
paper went to protest, his property was sold, 
and now I will take you to his present abode. 

We will enter this little frame shanty. Be 
careful; you must stoop going up this narrow 
stairway. Do not let his wild ravings disturb 
or alarm you. 

“ Good evening, Mr. K-. How are you 

today ? ’ 9 

u O, I feel miserable. If only—. There, 
there ! Keep her off me. There she is ! There 
is a whole lot of them, crawling across the 
pillow ! There, they will run over my face !” 

“ Took at the wall, covered with snakes. 
There, they are running up the bedpost. Here, 
quick, strike them off the bed, they are coming 
on the cover. Eaura, hand me that cane, or 
my boot; quickly give me something to strike 
them with. There! There! don’t you see 
them coming?” 





^ndfte in f$e (Btfaee 


163 


A certain victim of strong drink for years 
indulged in all manner of brutalities. Beat 
his wife and children, and drove them out of 
the house. His wife did washing and other 
hard work to pay the rent and support the 
family—support him too. I did all I could to 
comfort her and help her to instruct and train 
her children piously. In his sober intervals 
he was filled with remorse, but not with re¬ 
pentance. The pious life of his wife rebuked 
and enraged him. 

He was taken sick, and sent for me. “ What 
can I do for you ?’ ’ I asked. 

“Why, I want you to baptize me right 
away,” he replied. 

“ Why do you wish me to do that for you ?” 

<( Well, I have seen two angels, and I wish 
to be baptized right away.” 

After further conversation I found that the 
poor man was haunted with a “snake in the 
glass.” He hoped that possibly the sacrament 
of baptism might relieve him from his horrid 
vision. Of course, I could not baptize him on 
such a profession. Poor man ! He afterward 
returned to his cups, as I feared he would. 

Come, my friend, we must leave this horri¬ 
ble place. This man’s physician told him, 




164 


(precept anb (practice 


when he had the last attack of delirium trem¬ 
ens, that he must quit his drinking. That 
another attack would certainly kill him. He 
vowed never to taste another drop, but broke 
his vow. Here you see him with a “snake in 
the glass. ’ ’ 

Thirty years ago one of the first physicians 
of a certain town was Dr. A—. Intelligent, 
affable, a skilful practitioner, at home in both 
the German and English languages, he soon 
gained a large and successful practice, and 
hosts of warm friends. He gradually acquired 
drinking habits. Sometimes when sent for, 
he was in a grog shop. The habit grew on 
him. At length he reeled along the streets in 
beastly drunkenness. Despite his loose hab¬ 
its, many of his friends retained him for a 
season. He had many fine traits of character. 
He knew of his weakness, and often grieved 
over it to his friends. Matters grew worse 
and worse. As an intelligent physician he 
foresaw what awaited him. He lost self-con¬ 
trol. Could not master his appetite, as he 
said. The serpent coiled around him, until 
he was chained to his passion for strong drink. 
Everybody pitied him, but none could de- 




tit {§t d 5 faee 


165 


liver. Under his spells of delirium tremens 
he suffered with visions of indescribable hor¬ 
ror. Often I saw, and with a sympathizing 
heart saluted him as he vainly tried to walk 
steadily on the street. He lost his practice, 
his credit, his property, and died in the county 
poor-house. At twenty-five he could easily 
have said “ No” to the tempter. At forty-five 
the fire had gained too much to be extin¬ 
guished. Higher up the stream the boat might 
have stemmed the current and been taken 
ashore. As it is nearing the falls, no power 
but that of Almighty God can wrest it from 
the sweeping torrent. 

The Chicago Times says : “It hasn’t often 
happened, since the days of Brutus, that a 
father has sat in judgment, and passed sen¬ 
tence on one of his sons. The mention of an 
old Canadian Judge’s name in a newspaper re¬ 
calls to me this incident in his life. The son 
was addicted to liquor, and for drunkenness 
was sent home from Upper Canada College. 
At home he continued his career of worthless¬ 
ness, and one night, out of sheer drunken 
folly, picked a friend’s pocket of his handker¬ 
chief, and thought it would be a rare piece of 




166 (precept dttb (prdefke 

fun to take also his watch. Accordingly he 
knocked him down, and tied his hands and 
deprived him of the watch. The friend had 
the humorist arrested for highway robbery, and 
in due course the young fellow came before his 
own father, who sent him to the penitentiary 
for five years, and cut his name out of the 
family Bible. I would like to be able to say 
that the young man reformed. Historical ac¬ 
curacy, however, compels me to declare that he 
married, was suspected of a railroad robbery, 
started a livery stable, and drank himself to 
death.” 

Strange is the power of strong drink. Once 
accustomed to its use, it will affect everything 
around you. It will cover your farm with 
weeds, lay your fences level with the earth, 
and overrun your fields with strange cattle. It 
takes the paint off your home, and sets your 
roof aleaking. It drives your best customers 
from your counter, and sets your creditors 
aclamoring for their claims. It covers the face 
of your wife and children with the blush of 
shame, and sets their loving hearts ableeding 
Instead of using your money to cheer and 
adorn your home and suitably clothe your 
family, you empty your purse into the drawer 




^nafte tn f$e (Bfaee 


167 


of the rumseller, who will take your last cent, 
and then turn you out of his house. It will 
cover your windows with broken panes of 
glass, stuffed up with old hats and rags, to keep 
the rain and cold out. It takes the gloss off 
your clothes and the polish from your manners. 
It reddens your eyes and your face, and brands 
you with the drunkard’s mark, which the chil¬ 
dren on the street can read. It makes your 
throat an open sepulchre of stench, so that 
your kiss is offensive to your wife and children. 
It blunts your reason, arouses your animal 
passions, and brutalizes your sensibilities. It 
makes the rich man poor indeed, and robs him 
of his house and home. It turns a man into a 
brute, and leads him to insult his wife and 
children. It binds him with fetters, and makes 
him the veriest slave. It turns him into the 
gutter, tumbles him into a drunkard’s grave, 
and sends him into everlasting torment. 

Dr. Guthrie says : “I have heard the wail of 
children for bread and their mother had none 
to give them. I have seen the babe pulling 
at breasts as dry as if the starved mother had 
been dead. I have known a father to turn a 
step-daughter into the streets at night, bidding 
the sobbing girl who bloomed into womanhood 




(precept cmb (practice 


168 


earn her bread there as others were doing. I 
have bent over the foul pallet of a dying lad, 
to hear him whisper that his father and mother, 
who were sitting half drunk by the fireside, 
had pulled the blankets off his body to sell for 
drink. I have seen the children blanched like 
plants growing in a cellar—for weeks they 
never breathed a mouthful of fresh air, for 
want of rags to cover their nakedness, and they 
lived in continual terror of a drunken father or 
mother coming home to beat them. I do not 
recollect ever seeing a mother in these wretched 
dwellings dandling her infant, or of hearing 
the little creature crow or laugh. These are 
some of drink’s doings, but nobody can know 
the misery I suffered amid those scenes of 
wretchedness, woe, want and sin.” 

And yet people will trifle with this demon. 
Young men sport on the brink of ruin. Is 
there no safeguard against this Arch De¬ 
stroyer? Yes. Persevering, sincere prayer to 
God for help . Repentance and faith in the 
L,ord Jesus Christ. We need an arm stronger 
than ours, a rock higher than we. Beware 
how you trifle with the use of strong drink. 
To some people it is like throwing a torch into 
a powder keg. Resist and flee from the temp- 




^nafte m f0e (Sfaee 


169 


tation in early life, in the early formation of 
your habits. Shun companions addicted to the 
use of strong drink. Be not ashamed to refuse 
the offer of a glass in company. “ There’s a 
snake in the glass.” 

Said the Rev. Mr. Glacier, in an address 
some years ago : 

“ I suppose that most of you are acquainted 
more or less with the life of the late Senator 
Richard Yates. Last Thanksgiving Day he 
died. At the beginning of the late war he 
was prominent among the rising men of the 
West. Kind, gentle, large-hearted, open- 
handed, possessed of a good voice, personally 
magnetic, ‘well stocked with brains,’ all pre¬ 
dicted for him a wonderfully brilliant career. 
He became the great war governor of Illinois, 
the popular senator from the same state, and 
friends entertained hopes for him of ‘even 
higher preferment. ’ 

“But, like many other brilliant men, he 
‘ drank,’ staking now and then a social glass, 
at length drinking oftener and more, even to 
stupefaction or delirium. 

“ Again and again he tried to reform, but ap¬ 
petite proved stronger, and at last the man in 
whom were centered the lofty hopes, not only 




(precept anb (practice 


170 


of family and kindred, but of state and nation, 
was dismissed in disgrace from the service of 
the people whose confidence he had abused, 
whose patience he had exhausted. Of his life 
immediately preceding his death I know com¬ 
paratively little ; and although it may be barely 
possible that at last he changed for the better, 
yet it is extremely improbable, and while I 
judge him not—my feelings being rather those 
of pity—I cannot but say beside his grave, here 
lies a victim of strong drink.” 

Here, then, is an illustration of the tre¬ 
mendous power of intoxicating drink. This 
man tried repeatedly to reform, and repeatedly 
fell. A few years ago, in the city of Washing¬ 
ton, there was much earnest work done by 
various temperance organizations. Public 
meetings were held, and, among others, one in 
the House of Representatives—many promi¬ 
nent men participating. It is said that the 
most thrilling speech of the evening—no other 
adjective describing it—was made by a re¬ 
formed drunkard. Most vividly he described 
the wretchedness of the debauchee—the misery, 
the shame, the remorse, the conflict against 
consuming passions. With deep pathos he 
spoke of the influence which had aided him to 




^ndfte tn t$t (Bfees 1 T 1 

overcome, and especially of the love of his wife 
and children—love which never forsook nor 
reproached him. One brilliant period he closed 
as follows: 

“ Love, the soul and centre of the universe ! 

Love that links angel to angel and God to man, 

That binds in one two loving hearts ! 

How beautiful is love !” 

And yet the love of wife, the love of chil¬ 
dren, the love of God, the sympathies of 
friends, the struggles, the pledges—all did not 
finally avail against his remorseless appetite. 
Again he fell. This man was Senator Yates. 

Young men, when you now and then raise 
to your lips the social glass, remember Rich¬ 
ard Yates. 




172 


(Jjrecepf anb (practice 


($ QjUotJer’ff QStfefftng 

EIGHTEEN 

HE was a widow, and lived in a 
hovel, in a certain country town. 
With the help of her eldest son, 
Jack, she could keep from perish¬ 
ing want. Jack had some rough 
ways about him, but withal some streaks of 
manliness. Besides, he had a tender affection 
for his mother. He tried his best, by hard 
work, to help to keep things agoing at home. 
A raw-boned, lank, large limbed, gawky coun¬ 
try youth, he tried to hide his tenderer nature 
from his companions. The Civil War broke 
out. The nation called for help in her hour of 
peril. Young men and old flocked to her de¬ 
fence, and still there was need for more. From 
the aforesaid country village, too, brave men 
volunteered. Jack took the war fever, and so 
did his poor mother. The country needs him, 
but his mother needs him none the less. How 








(tttof^et'e QBfeffmg 


173 


could she get along without him ? If he lived, 
he might send her part of his earnings ; but 
should he be killed, what then ? 

She gave her consent, and tied up his little 
bundle of clothes and such little conveniences 
as her poverty afforded. She sobbed as if 
tying part of her heart in the bundle. Before 
the rickety garden-gate, in front of their hut, 
Jack gave his mother good-bye, and kissed 
her. She was his mother, and he her only 
son. Many a prayer had she offered for him, 
and how hard she worked to keep and train 
him when he was a little boy. And now he 
is going away, perhaps going away no more 
to return, and she be left without his help in 
this cold, unfeeling world ! Is it a wonder 
that she wept as she breathed a parting bless¬ 
ing on him ? It went hard for him to get 
away from her. Might he not be killed, and 
who would care for mother then? He charged 
her not to follow him to the village green, 
where the boys met to start. One parting was 
hard enough, two would be harder. Besides, 
the rest of the boys might tease him for weep¬ 
ing. A soldier must not weep, must be tear- 
lessly manly, he thought. 




174 


(precept attb (practice 


“Well, boys, we’re going off, arn’t we?” 
said a tali, raw-boned fellow, who was joking 
with his fellow recruits on the village green. 

“Yes, we are,” replied several. 

While Jack was thus cracking jokes with his 
comrades, he held a little bundle tied in a coarse, 
red handkerchief, in his long awkward arms. 
Just then an old woman approached the crowd. 
She was trying to pull a thin shawl about her 
to shield her against the chilly winds of au¬ 
tumn. But the shawl was too small and too 
thin to render much service. She had nothing 
better to put on, and the winter was at the 
door, and Jack was going away to war. Tim¬ 
idly she looked at a face here and there as she 
shyly walked through the crowd in search of 
her boy. Rude jokes fell from their lips, some 
perhaps trying to conceal their parting grief 
by boisterous mirth. Presently she stood be¬ 
fore her coarse-featured son. His eyes dropped, 
his face was flushed. He raised his large, bony 
hand, and held his large finger to his eyes and 
shook it with a twirl, saying : 

“ Now, mother, mother! Ye promised me 
that ye wouldn’t come out, didn’t ye? Now, 
ye promised me, when I said good-bye to ye, 
mother. I told ye I didn’t want ye to come 




(tttoffjer'e QSfefTtng 


175 


out here and unman me, and here ye have done 
it! Now, I wish ye hadn’t!” 

The old woman lifted her wrinkled, tremb¬ 
ling hands up and put them on the great, high 
shoulders of her son, as the tears streamed 
down her furrowed cheeks. 

“ O, Jack,” she cried, “don’t scold me; 
don’t scold your poor old mother; ye know ye 
are all I have, Jack, and I didn’t come out to 
unman ye—I didn’t come out to unman ye. 
I have come to say, * God bless ye, Jack ; God 
bless ye !’ ” 

And then she folded her thin shawl around 
her again and turned away. 

Jack tried to wipe away the tears with his 
big, bony hand, and then pulled his heavy, 
faded sleeve over his face with a sort of vexed 
emphasis, remarking with a soldierly shame to 
his comrades : 11 Hang it, boys, she is mother, 
you know.” 

The blessing of his shivering mother be¬ 
stowed with tears, followed Jack through the 
war. When disheartened or under fire, he re¬ 
membered how his mother said, “ I didn’t 
come to unman ye,—I have come to say, ‘ God 
bless ye, Jack ; God bless ye.’ ” Jack had a 




176 


(precept ditb (practice 


tender, warm heart. The u God bless ye” of 
his mother, like a guardian angel, kept him in 
the right path. 

The moral of this incident is : 

This poor woman, like the one with two 
mites in the temple, gave more than any of 
her wealthier neighbors. Jack was her only 
son, her only earthly support, the only hope 
for her declining years. For her this was an 
immense sacrifice, laid on the altar of her 
country. 

It is not unmanly or unwomanly for young 
people, after they have grown up, to give ex¬ 
pression of their tender love to their parents. 
Some boys scarcely fifteen years of age, are so 
eager to play the man, as to treat their parents 
with a cold, stately distance. It is all a mis¬ 
erable sham. I have known some of the best 
men the world has had, after their own heads 
were gray, embracing and kissing their old 
mothers. And to be seen shedding tears of love 
and sympathy with one’s dear mother—I hold 
that that does not unman one ; it is a sign of 
true manhood and womanhood. 

I am sure that all who read this will take 
kindly to Jack, as they see him wiping the 
falling tears with his heavy, faded sleeve. His 




(tttoffler’o QBfeffros 


177 


failing to keep back the tears makes us like 
him all the better, in spite of his awkward and 
unrefined exterior. Such a streak of filial ten¬ 
derness in a person, though otherwise of blame- 
able habits, is always a redeeming quality and 
sometimes a starting point from which to be¬ 
gin a religious life. 

A pious mother’s blessing is worth much. 
She may have no costly gifts or money to be¬ 
stow, but her prayerful benediction is worth 
more than all these. “I didn’t come to un¬ 
man ye,—I have come to say, ‘ God bless ye,, 
Jack ; God bless ye.’ ” 

Lord Macaulay says: “Children, look into 
those eyes, listen to that dear voice, notice the 
feeling of even a single touch that is bestowed 
upon you by that gentle hand ! Make much 
of it while yet you have that most precious of 
all good gifts, a loving mother. Read the un¬ 
fathomable love of those eyes ; the kind anx¬ 
iety of that tone and look, however slight your 
pain. In after-life you may have friends, fond, 
dear, kind friends ; but never will you have 
again the inexpressible love and gentleness 
lavished upon you which none but a mother 
bestows. Often do I sigh in my struggles with 
the hard, uncaring world, for the sweet, deep 


12 




-*78 


(precept anb (practice 

security I felt, when of an evening nestling in 
her bosom, I listened to some quiet tale, suit¬ 
able to my age, read in her tender and untir¬ 
ing voice. Never can I forget her sweet 
glances cast upon me, when I appeared asleep ; 
never her kiss of peace at night. Years have 
passed away since we laid her beside my father 
in the old church yard ; yet still her voice 
whispers from the grave, and her eye watches 
over me, as I visit spots long since hallowed 
to the memory of my mother. ’ ’ 




£ 0 e dub f$e fete 


179 


anb Bie 

NINETEEN 

LIES doubtless have a mission to 
perform, as have all creatures in 
the order of creation and Provi¬ 
dence. But now and then they 
venture into places where they are 
not wanted, as do some of their human super¬ 
iors. For persistent, provoking impertinence, 
just when poor human nature is most easily 
provoked, commend me to a fly, on a sultry 
summer day. When the heavens are prepar¬ 
ing to pour down a blessed rain, she is in her 
naughtiest and most annoying mood. With 
singular pertinacity she is sure to alight on 
the most sensitive spot, and at the very mo¬ 
ment when you can least endure her. 

Think of a lady, sweetly warbling a solo to 
the delight of a fanning flock, right at the 
sweetest passage the fly creeps into her ear or 
into her busy mouth. Her warbling must go 
on, and yet how can it under such a torture ! 
Just when the preacher is in the midst of the 








i8o 


(precept <xnb practice 


most stirring part of his sermon, when his 
whole soul is aroused with impassioned fervor, 
and in the middle of an eloquent sentence, the 
fly tries to creep into his nostrils, he twitches 
his face in vain ; at length he brushes the 
nasty thing away, only to return again, surely 
to the same spot, and there she will stick and 
torment him. To fight the fly before the con¬ 
gregation would scarcely be dignified, either 
in the singer or the preacher. But allow them 
to invite their tormentor just one minute to a 
private interview in the lecture room, would 
they not crush the wretch ? Not very likely. 
For who can flog a fugitive fly ? On a warm 
summer morning or afternoon, you try to sleep 
a little more than nature demands. You darken 
the room, try to cover hands and face, almost 
to suffocation, but the puny scourge is sure to 
walk and sniffle over some sensitive part of the 
skin, and banish sleep from your pillow, be 
that pillow a board or a book. You chafe un¬ 
der the pestiferous touch of its feet, and wonder 
that so small an insect could disturb the calm¬ 
ness and dignified composure of a man of 
thought. 

Against such an evil you are left powerless. 
Against a dog, snake, or tramp you defend 




Z$e ffg <xnb f$e fete 


181 


yourself with club or stone or tongue, but 
what weapon of defence is there against a fly ? 
Strike her in the act of offense and you hurt 
yourself instead of the offender. True, you 
may in very rare cases banish or kill her in 
your later, cooler moments, but then there 
would be more satisfaction to batter the life 
out of her in the heights of your rage. How 
strange the effect of so trifling a cause. We 
bear far more serious trials with more heroic 
calmness than those produced by a fly. The 
miserable thing unnerves many a warrior who 
can face the cannon’s mouth with the utmost 
coolness. I have felt the fleas of Egypt and 
Syria, until almost every pore of the skin 
seemed to be tenanted by one. A plunge in¬ 
to the Red, Mediterranean, or the Dead Sea, 
would dislodge the whole brood. But our fly 
in one of its sulky moods will step aside till 
after your bath, and then return most likely 
to the same spot. Stephen says, “ Life has 
its cares and troubles, but few know that of 
being given up to the tender mercies of Greek 
fleas. ” And yet I doubt not, that on his re¬ 
turn to America, a single fly in sultry weather 
could annoy him more than a brood of Athen¬ 
ian fleas. 




182 


(precept anb (practice 


In all lands and times have flies thus put 
their noses into other people’s faces and places. 
How they must have plagued Pharoah and his 
subjects, when they came in 4 4 grievous 
swarms into his house, and into his servants’ 
houses,” and refused to be put out, until the 
Iyord removed them. Repeatedly the Greek 
and Roman poets depict the impertinence of 
the fly, and make it preach a moral lesson. 
Aristophanes wrote a comedy on wasps, and 
he makes them sting people whom he dis¬ 
likes. But, when the wasp thrusts her sting 
into a place, she stays long enough for you to 
kill her. But who can hit a fly ? She is an 
intangible reality. Here she comes again for 
the fourth time, how she clings to the corner 
of the eye, and knows just where the hair is 
the thinnest, and her touches the most unen¬ 
durable on the head. What can she be after ? 
Food or fun ? By this time she ought to know 
that no liberties will be allowed in that quar¬ 
ter. 

There is a close resemblance between a fly 
and a lie. A fly, although a seemingly little 
thing, becomes very offensive. A single one 
in the fragrant apothecary’s ointment maketh 
it to stink. And a lie embitters and estranges 




ZQe anb f$e fete 


183 


friends, and turns love into hate, and peace 
into strife. Like the fly, it scents out a sore 
place for the hundredth time, but has no taste 
for sounder and more attractive parts in one’s 
character. A reformed fault, a half-conquered 
infirmity is one of its favorite themes. On 
such material it feeds. It often strikes you 
when the least able to bear it. It smites Moses 
just at a time when his great burdens have 
well nigh crushed him ; and David, when his 
enemies stung him like bees, is beaten to the 
earth by the lies of his wicked son. Not when 
we are the strongest, but in moods of depres¬ 
sion and wavering faith, is it most likely to 
torment us. What is to be done with it? 
With club or sword in hand, rush up and 
down your room to kill it? Hunt its little 
mean life from cellar to garret, through field 
and garden ? Why, in a fair and square fight 
the whole navy of England, or the army of 
Germany can not kill a fly in an open field. 
Making war on her is like Luther throwing his 
inkstand at the devil. You may leave a spot 
on the wall, but it is not of the blood of slaugh¬ 
tered Satan. The more vigorously you pursue 
a flying rumor, the more you will spread it. 
Now and then you can crush it with truth. 




184 


(precept anb (practice 

Lies like flies are very prolific. Like thistle 
down, one seed produces a thousand, and each 
spreads a crop by every breeze of lying tongues. 

*°Twixt truth and error there is this difference known, 
Error is fruitful, truth is only one.” 

How fearless and foolhardy is the fly. It 
alights on the nose of the lion and lodges in 
the ear of the elephant. It sports over the face 
of king and queen, as it does over that of her 
child or humblest servant. How void of all 
reverence are both. No rank or station is be¬ 
yond the reach of a lie. With Satanic venom it 
even assails the Saviour of the world in the 
days of His agony. 

Both these pests are shortlived. Permitted 
as a discipline to good people, the fruit of their 
work will in the end serve the cause of truth 
and peace. Like Mephistopheles in Goethe’s 
Faust, the lie is the spirit which forever 
negates, which works the good and wills the 
evil. “Ich bin der Geist der stets vereint.” 
And this Mephistopheles impersonates the 
devil, u the father of lies.” And Beelzebub, 
the prince of devils, is the god of flies. 




£ 0 e (Voice of Conscience 


185 


(Voice of Conscience 

TWENTY 


“ Go to your bosom ; 

Knock there ; and ask your heart what it doth know.” 

‘ 4 My conscience hath a thousand several tongues 

And every tongue brings in a several tale; 

And every tale condemns me for a villain.” 

N ancient philosopher elbowed his 
way through the crowded streets 
of Athens in broad daylight, car¬ 
rying a lantern and intently hunt¬ 
ing something. Surely he must 
have lost somebody or some treasure. When 
asked what he was searching for, he replied : 
“ I am hunting a man.” By which he meant 
to say that in the crowded city, swarming with 
human beings, it was very difficult to find a 
person possessed of all the qualities of a noble 
manhood. 

Outside of sanctifying grace, one might find 
it equally difficult to discover “ a conscience 
void of offence toward God and man. ” And it 
cannot be denied that, even among many pro- 







(precept anb (practice 


186 


fessing Christians, there is a lack of unbend¬ 
ing, conscientious integrity. There is much 
that claims to be piety, which is utterly void 
of the principles of conscientious dealing in 
practical life. The prevalent corruption in 
private, public, and social life is in a great 
measure owing to a diseased or wilful disre¬ 
gard of conscience. 

Its defects and diseases are owing to differ¬ 
ent causes. A child born of unconscientious 
parents, taught and trained by them, is likely 
to have an ignorant conscience. And many 
descendants of better parents wilfully neglect 
the enlightening of it. Much of so-called una¬ 
voidable ignorance is criminal. In this en¬ 
lightened age and country very few can plead 
an excuse for ignorance in this direction. 
There are many causes where a want of moral 
intelligence is a criminal offence against God 
and man, and deserves a corresponding pun¬ 
ishment. A London lad once stood before 
Nelson’s monument in one of the squares of 
the city. One of Nelson’s weather-beaten 
sailors, who had fought bravely under the 
great warrior, stood by his side, and chuckled 
with pride over the honor thus publicly be¬ 
stowed on his great leader. “ Who is that?” 




£ 0 e (Dotce of Conscience 


187 


asked the lad of the tar. “ Why, don’t you 
know?” replied the sailor, “that’s Nelson.” 
“Nelson!” asked the lad further, “ Who is 
he ?” This last question the sailor answered 
by a rough box of the lad’s ear with his coarse 
hand, which knocked the little fellow over. 
When some of the people standing by ex¬ 
pressed their abhorrence at this rough treat¬ 
ment, the sailor indignantly answered : 
“What! ought not every English boy, who 
does not know who Nelson was, to have a 
sound thrashing?” Far less excuse have 
most people, young and old, for being ignorant 
of One greater than Nelson, who alone is the 
enlightener and regenerator of conscience. 

Through certain adverse influences con¬ 
science may be seared or put to sleep. (1 Tim. 
4:2). A boy enters his name as a blacksmith 
apprentice. The first few weeks the heavy 
hammer blisters the soft skin of his hands, and 
the hissing sparks flung off the heated iron 
burn him. Ere long the handle will harden 
the palm of his hands, the heated iron will sear 
it, and the skin become horny, crispy, and in¬ 
sensible. Thus a conscience once so tender, 
that it shrank from the slightest suggestion of 




i88 


(precept ctnb (practice 


wrong, by doing it repeated and continuous 
violence, becomes dead and voiceless. 

Hazael, the young candidate for the throne 
of Israel, tender in years, was doubtless sincere 
in expressing his abhorrence of the cruelties 
predicted of him by Elisha. He slay the young 
men, and even dash the infant on its mother’s 
breast in pieces ! “ What! is Thy servant a 

dog that he should do this great thing?” But 
the time came, when Hazael acted the cruel 
monster, as the prophet had foretold. (2 Kings 
8:12, 13). Before his conversion Paul had an 
erring conscience. His Jewish prejudice and 
bigotry blinded his moral sense. And so he 
thought he was zealously serving God, when 
he persecuted and imprisoned His people and 
tried to destroy His cause. 

Conscience is to the soul what the mariner’s 
compass is to the ship. This is a singular in¬ 
strument. Its needle, if true, always points to 
the north. When clouds hide the heavens and 
the stars, and the seaman is without beacon or 
bird to guide him, the little compass will al¬ 
ways tell him which way to steer. What makes 
the needle so true to its pole ? Magnetism ? But 
what is that ? What is the still sma 1 voice in 
the soul, called conscience ; which approves 




tfte. (Voice of Conscience 


189 


the right and condemns the wrong? The si¬ 
lent monitor? The voice of God ? Yes. But 
what is that ? 

Even a compass may be warped by its sur¬ 
roundings. A few years ago a ship was within 
a moment of being dashed on the rocky coast 
of New England by a badly influenced com¬ 
pass. Unknown to the captain, a bar of iron 
was thrown in its neighborhood. This turned 
the needle from its true point. A tenpenny 
nail in a board a few feet off may divert the 
needle, and destroy hundreds of lives. 

Thus conscience is often influenced by pride, 
ambition and a love of money ; by passion and 
lust. People who call themselves Christians 
and claim to be conscientious, are known liars, 
swindlers and whoremongers. Twenty years 
ago a certain banker, now a political mil¬ 
lionaire, urged another banker, who was a 
Christian, to shave with his deposits. 

44 1 can’t do it,” said the Christian. 

44 Why not,” asked the sharper. 

44 My conscience won’t allow me.” 

44 Conscience,” he replied. 44 Who cares for 
conscience ?” 

Webster’s Dictionary gives thirteen defini¬ 
tions for the word 44 fresh.” It has been said 




190 


(precept emb (practice 


that the dictionaries of some dairymen have 
but one, which is the eighth definition in 
Webster. This makes the word mean : Re¬ 
cently from the well or spring. 

A distinguished minister of state in Berlin, 
a member of the sainted father Gossner’s 
church, once fought a duel on a certain Mon¬ 
day, after he had taken the communion the 
day previous. The godly pastor took the 
duelist to task about the matter, and asked him 
how he could do so with a free and good con¬ 
science. 

The minister answered that he communed as 
a Christian and fought a duel as a Prussian 
officer. 

Gossner replied : “ But suppose, your excel¬ 
lency, the devil should come tonight to fetch 
the officer, where will the Christian be ?” 

Thus the conscience is often made to bend 
and bow to a lax moral practice, until its elas¬ 
ticity ceases to protest against sin. 

An accusing and guilty conscience greatly 
annoys its possessor. He fears that his heart 
and life are or will be uncovered to the eyes of 
others. Lorenzo Dow once made a thief bring 
back a stolen axe. On his way to church he 
met a man who swore at the unknown rogue. 




(Eotce of Conectence 


191 


“I will make him bring it back,” said Dow. 
He preached on the sin of stealing, and, in the 
middle of the sermon, raised his hand, with 
a stone in it, fiercely eyeing the congregation, 
and threatening to throw, he said : M A man 
in this neighborhood had an axe stolen last 
night, and if the person who stole it doesn’t 
dodge, I will hit him on the forehead with this 
stone.” Dow, accompanying the threat with 
a certain violent effort of the arm, the thief was 
seen vigorously dodging his head, and was 
thereby made to restore the axe. 

“ Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind ; 

The thief doth fear each bush an officer.” 

The accusations of a guilty conscience are 
God’s police, whose detective pursuit no mor¬ 
tal can escape or evade. A criminal may escape 
the civil arm, but he can not flee from his con¬ 
science. God has placed this court of justice 
within our breasts, which incessantly issues 
verdicts of acquittal or condemnation. It is 
the law written in all human hearts, “their 
conscience also bearing witness, and their 
thoughts the meanwhile accusing or else ex¬ 
cusing one another.” (Rom. 2:15). 




192 


(precept atib (practice 

Shakespeare portrayed its functions with a 
master hand: “I’ll not meddle with it, it 
makes a man a coward ; a man can not steal, 
but it accuseth him ; a man can not swear, 
but it checks him ; a man can not be with a 
neighbor’s wife, but it detects him. ’Tis a 
blushing, shame-faced spirit, that mutinies in 
a man’s bosom ; it fills one full of obstacles ; 
it made me once restore a purse of gold, that, 
by chance, I found ; it beggars any man that 
keeps it; it is turned out of all towns and 
cities for a dangerous thing.” 

Shakespeare speaks here as a man of the 
world, as many now speak, who fain would 
throw conscience to the dogs. Could that be 
done, the thief, the robber, the liar, and the 
victim of lust could sin with less inconvenience 
than now. A man may affect to disbelieve the 
Bible, may avow himself an atheist. But can 
he get rid of or deny the ambassador of God in 
his own soul—his conscience? 

A wealthy jeweler went on a journey, with 
a young servant, carrying a valuable stock of 
goods with him. At a secluded place the ser¬ 
vant shot his master, threw his body into the 
canal, and fled to a distant country with his 
stolen goods. For a while he prospered, be- 




£ 0 e (Ootce of Conscience 


193 


came an educated, able lawyer, and a rich 
man. He married into a wealthy family. He 
acquired a good name, and was highly esteem¬ 
ed. At length he was called to be the mag¬ 
istrate and judge of his district. He filled his 
position with ability, and was honored as a 
just and upright judge. One day a criminal 
was brought before him, accused of murdering 
his master. 

The criminal was found guilty, and the 
crowd assembled eager'y waiting for the up¬ 
right judge to pass sentence upon him. 

The people noticed that he was unusually 
excited. His face was flushed, his whole frame 
seemed in a tremor. He could conceal the ac¬ 
cursed secret no longer. His guilty conscience 
burned within him. He demanded a hearing. 
For many years he had tried to execute and 
interpret the law justly. All this while he was 
arraigned as a murderer before the bar of his 
own conscience. Stepping down from the 
bench, he took his place at the side of the 
prisoner at the bar, whom he was to have sen¬ 
tenced to be hung. The amazed assembly knew 
not what to make of his conduct until he spoke 
as follows : 


13 




194 


(precept ctnb (practice 

u You see before you a striking instance of 
the just awards of heaven. This day, after 
thirty years’ concealment, presents to you a 
greater criminal than the man just now found 
guilty. Nor can I find any relief from the 
agonies of an awakened conscience, but requir¬ 
ing that justice be forthwith done against me 
in the most solemn and public manner. ” He 
made full confession of his crime, and gave his 
life for the life he had destroyed. At length 
the long suppressed voice of conscience asserted 
its claims. To the eyes of others he had spent 
thirty years of seeming prosperity and happi¬ 
ness, whilst he suffered the torments of the 
lost in his own guilty soul. 

The wicked flee when no man pursueth. 
Cain’s guilty conscience expected to find an 
avenger of his brother’s blood in every man he 
met. 

“ Behold, thou hast driven me out this day 
from the face of the earth, and from thy face 
shall I be hid ; and I shall be a fugitive and a 
vagabond in the earth, and it shall come to 
pass, that everyone that findeth me shall slay 
me.” (Gen. 4:14). 




£$e ^Vtenbe^ip of CfKfWn 


195 


Jttenbe^tp of C^tP&ven 

TWENTY-ONE 

HACKERAY once said that he 
never saw a boy without wanting 
instantly to give him a sovereign. 
I sympathize with this feeling. 
Often, amid a group of prattling 
innocents, have I wished for a pint of gold 
dollars to give each one a bit of transient hap¬ 
piness. How pure and happy these little 
beings are ! One never tires looking at them. 
I know of no recreation so invigorating as to 
watch the skipping, frisking, merry-making of 
children. They are pressed down by no care. 
They are still ignorant of evil. They think 
everybody as pure and honest as themselves. 
Their minds have not yet been poisoned by 
suspicion. Alas, for these children, when they 
discover the first sin ! We all have some vague 
recollection of the first lie we heard. How it 
shocked our tender hearts. After that the 








(precept anb (pr&cfice 


• world lookt d darker; it was as if a star had 
fallen from our heavens ; we began to suspect 
people of being bad. 

Children are faithful friends. The world is 
false and treacherous. People are often friends, 
because they seek a benefit. Friendship is 
made a tool for gain. The friendship of a 
child is unselfish. It gives to you its heart, 
its whole little being. It will not deceive you. 
Older hearts may forsake or forget you ; its 
heart remains true to you. The cares of the 
world weigh heavily upon you. Trial has 
taught you the vanity and emptiness of all 
human aims and wishes. In vain you seek 
relief w th those once counted friends. Only 
in the hearts of children do you find unalloyed 
comfort Their hearts will cleave to you, 
though the heavens fall. 

Pastors are human. Their labors wear and 
tear them down. The conscientious care of 
souls is crushing. So feel I in common with 
others. I hear of the waywardness of some 
church members. I see the indifference of 
those from whom I had expected better things. 
I preach on Sunday morning, but, when the 
sermon is ended, I am tempted with doubts. 
How few have received the word with profit! 




Jttenb*0{p of C^tfbren 


197 


How much falls among thorns and by the way- 
side ! “ Who hath believed our report, and to 

whom is the arm of the Lord revealed ?” The 
spirit droops. 

In the afternoon I go among the children. 
I visit the Sunday-school. Help them to sing 
and pray ; listen, and look at them saying their 
lessons. Sometimes say a few words to them. 
Then feel better. Before that I was like a 
ship’s crew that had lost its bearing; here I 
have found it again. I have inhaled the dewy 
breath of childhood. Their cheery melodies 
are to my heart like showers upon the parched 
grass. There I find quite another world ; not 
empty-hearted, but confiding and real. To me 
it is heaven on earth begun. And, when some 
of these faithful little friends go to heaven, I 
feel that the earth is better for their having 
lived here a few years. And, when I think of 
their angels in heaven, clothed in white gar¬ 
ments, my burdens seem lighter, and I wonder 
that people do not all try to become as little 
children. 

“ O, though oft depressed and lonely, 

All my fears are cast aside, 

If I but remember only, 

Such as these have lived and died.” 




198 


(pvtupt dttb QfMcftce 


Children are good hearers. True, some of 
them go to sleep during the sermon. But no 
wonder. Some of the older people would go 
to sleep, too, if some one would preach Chinese 
to them. And the heavy learning of many 
sermons is no better suited for children than 
that. Why do our sermons make no more ac¬ 
count of the children in our congregations ? I 
sometimes speak a few minutes to the chil¬ 
dren, in a style suited to them. This is by no 
means out of place in a sermon. It will not 
hurt the older folks. I did so on a late Sunday. 
Scores of little faces brightened up, as if to say: 
“ How kind that he says something to us little 
folks, too, when he preaches to older people.” 
Children hear and read well. 

‘ ‘ A blessing on their merry hearts, 

Such readers I would choose, 

Because they seldom criticise, 

And never write reviews. ’ ’ 

In my early ministry I entered upon the 
pastorate of a certain charge with a heavy 
heart. There were reasons for many misgiv¬ 
ings, despite the encouraging words of friendly 
members. Some months after entering upon 
my new field, a Sunday-school pinic was held 




;§mnb 8 #t:p of C$tfbreti 


199 


in a grove. It was a large gathering. I felt 
poorly at home among the jubilant crowd. 
Seated on a platform, and oppressed with a 
sense of coming responsibilities and trials, I 
mutely watched the innocent mirth of the 
little ones. While thus musing, a child, un¬ 
noticed by me, climbed on the bench, then 
half in stealth took me round the neck and 
kissed me. God sent the dear little thing to 
bless me in this way. More than any one or 
all the older people there did she encourage 
me. Others might be sincere or otherwise, 
might care for me personally, or simply for 
work which they expected me to perform ; 
but she was sincere, and would have given me 
the last nut or slice of orange she had. She 
has since grown up to be a young lady, and 
was never told how she cheered and blessed 
the overburdened heart of the new pastor. 

Children pray well. They are not ashamed 
to pray, as older people sometimes are. They 
think it is all right that a child should pray. 
Some time ago a little friend of mine fell 
asleep, and was put to bed by his nurse with¬ 
out saying his usual little evening prayer. 
About midnight he awoke, and asked his 
mother to let him kneel down aside of his lit- 





200 


(pxtctpi drib (practice 


tie trundle bed to say his prayer. This showed 
a tenderness of conscience which an angel 
might envy. 

A mother once told me that her little daugh¬ 
ter, without being urged to do it, every even¬ 
ing, after she had prayed for her parents, 
brothers and sisters, would pray God to bless 
me, her pastor, mentioning my name. Few 
incidents in my ministry have touched me so 
affectionately as the reports of little children 
praying for me. I would at any time give an 
hour of the best rest the night affords, to hear 
the sincere, trustful prayer of such a child. In 
the matter of earnest, devout prayer we can 
learn much from pious children. 

The best way for pastors to gain the hearts 
of the parents, is to gain the hearts of their 
children. Charles Dickens, standing aside of 
his boy at the grave of Thackeray, wept tears 
such as had rarely fallen from his eyes. 
Speaking of this afterward, he said : 

“ There was a great charm in Thackeray’s most genu¬ 
ine and unaffected love for little children. He loved to 
hold them by his knee, and rest his hand on their dark 
or golden hair. He had a peculiar delight in boys, and 
an excellent way with them. I thought of this, when I 
looked down into his grave, for I looked down into it 
over the shoulder of a boy to whom he had been kind.” 




of C^tfbrett 


201 


It costs very little to give happiness to chil¬ 
dren. A toy, a little book, a smile, a kind 
word, or a gentle hand laid on the head, will 
give them joy. They are the purest and the 
happiest beings of human kind. As the 
smallest stars are nearest the sun, so little 
children are nearest to God and nearest to 
heaven. Our Saviour says, “ In heaven their 
angels do always behold the face of my Father 
which is in heaven.” 




202 


(precept anb (practice 


<B<mrigj)e& ^epufclfreg 


TWENTY-TWO 

“ Ten cities claimed a Homer dead 
In which the living Homer begged his bread.” 


M 


OST people have more regard for a 
person when dead than alive. The 
first murmur of applause which 
greets some of God’s saints is 
when the earth first falls on their 
coffin lids. Often those who discard, dispar¬ 
age, and denounce them while living, are the 
loudest to eulogize them when dead. It has 
ever been so. A very high authority says that 
the Pharisees “ build the tombs of the prophets 
and garnish the sepulchres of the righteous” 
whom their fathers had killed. In ancient and 
modern times Oriental people built tombs or 
temples over the remains of their dead, as west¬ 
ern nations erect monuments. And thus the 
Moslem builds a mosque or temple over the 
grave of his saint or sire, or adorns his grave 
with a costly sepulchre. 







^epufc^ree 


203 


Great prophets among the Jews, after they 
had inflicted on them a life-long martyrdom, 
were after death honored with costly sepul¬ 
chres by their children. The tomb of Jer¬ 
emiah remains at Jerusalem to this day. After 
burning Latimer, Ridley, and Cranmer at the 
stake, England has exalted them as martyr- 
heroes among her national worthies. 

All over the continent of Europe you find 
grand monuments erected at a great cost to the 
memory of men of learning and piety, who, 
when living, were left to pine in want or were 
hounded from place to place by persecution. 
The grandest monument in Edinburgh, erected 
at an immense expense, is that of Sir Walter 
Scott, the man whom the lords and money 
kings of England suffered to work and worry 
himself to death in his vain endeavors to pay 
debts which others entailed upon him. The 
interest of the money spent in raising monu¬ 
ments to the memory of Robert Burns would 
have enabled him to live in princely splendor. 

Our own country is equally lavish in this 
post-mortem generosity. After authors and 
inventors have lived and died poor and neg¬ 
lected, and some even discarded as insane, 
publishers and manufacturers have amassed 




204 


(precept anb (practice 


vast fortunes by the works of these men of 
genius. Has any one ever heard of a case 
where the descendants of the author and the 
inventor received any attention or practical 
help from the men whom their fathers made 
rich ? 

Many a faithful, hard-working pastor is har¬ 
assed with cares inflicted by the shortcomings 
of his members who affect to be his best 
friends. An insufficient support compels him 
to stint his family in the simplest comforts of 
life or contract debts which he cannot promptly 
meet. And he who ought to be a blameless 
pattern of honesty and business rectitude, feels 
himself forced into a position of dishonor be¬ 
fore his community. The tongue of calumny 
and detraction helps to irritate his sufferings. 
Cold, inactive members weigh down his spirits. 
Professedly earnest Christians pierce his heart 
by the neglect of duty. His wealth wanes, his 
faith at times wavers, his love to his unfaithful 
people he strives to keep warm and glowing, 
which is no trifling undertaking. His bur¬ 
dens, chiefly of his friends > making, press him 
down. At length he sinks under the load, and 
God in mercy takes him into rest. Once asleep 
in Jesus, all are enthusiastic in his praise and 




(Bdtme^eb ^epufc^res 


205 


in his support, too. Now that the poor body 
can no longer feel or heed their marks of affec¬ 
tion, they strew it with costly flowers. A body 
which their lack of just and prompt support 
and their cold neglect compelled to suffer a 
slow martyrdom when living! The flowers 
would be all right, did not a person know 
that in his earnest, laborious pastorate this 
man had been grievously tormented by some 
of these people who now show such an ardent, 
fragrant love for his dead body. Perhaps they 
will build him a tomb, too, which they certainly 
ought to do, and garnish it in coming years. 
But it is a great pity that some people’s 
kindness becomes active after the object is 
dead. 

A writer says : “Do not keep the alabaster 
boxes of your love and tenderness sealed up 
until your friends are dead. Fill their lives 
with sweetness. Speak approving, cheering 
words while their ears can hear them and while 
their hearts can be thrilled by them. The 
things you mean to say before they are gone, 
say before they go. The flowers you mean to 
send for their coffins, send to brighten and 
sweeten their homes before they leave them. 
If my friends have alabaster boxes laid away 




206 


preccpf dttb (practice 


full of perfumes of sympathy and affection 
which they intend to break over my dead body, 
I would rather they would bring them out in 
my weary hours and open them that I may be 
refreshed and cheered by them when I need 
them. I would rather have a bare coffin with¬ 
out a flower, and a funeral without a eulogy 
than a life without the sweetness of love and 
sympathy. L,et us learn to anoint our friends 
before hand for their burial. Post-mortem 
kindnesses do not cheer the burdened spirit. 
Flowers on the coffin cast no fragrance back¬ 
ward over the weary days.” 

In the history of the family we meet the 
same evil. A meek, gentle wife and mother 
bears during long years the cold neglect and 
harsh, unsympathizing treatment of her hus¬ 
band. He spends his evenings away from 
home. The society of coarse boon compan¬ 
ions is preferred to that of his loving wife. 
Known only to God and herself is the slow 
martyrdom of her daily life. At length, 
crushed in body and spirit, she sinks into the 
grave. Now his heart seems to soften. Her 
shroud is a more costly dress than he ever 
bought her when living. He lavishes on her 




<0dtnt6$eb ^epufcffree 


207 


showy funeral what he should have used to 
make her comfortable when she was but his 
drudge and domestic martyr. He affects to 
grieve over his loss, too. The first time for 
many years that he seemed to consider her of 
any value to him or anybody else. As for 
affection, he really now seems to cherish some 
love for her—for her cold remains. At last 
he weeps—what that means I cannot clearly 
understand. It seems to me those tears ought 
to be very hot. But now, is it not a pity that 
this hardhearted, cruel husband could not feel 
and show a little of this tenderness to his poor 
wife, when she was still with him ? I fear, 
despite his tearful grief at her grave, he will 
soon forget her. An exchange gives the fol¬ 
lowing on this subject: 

“A string of thirty hired carriages, with a hearse at the 
head, stood before one of our Catholic churches. When 
the mass was said, a body was carried out. It was en¬ 
cased in a marvelous coffin, fit to be followed by thirty 
carriages. The body was that of a woman who, after a 
life of hard work, had found rest. For years she had 
cooked and scrubbed, toiling early and late. She had, 
perhaps, never suffered for food or clothing, but had seen 
only the plainest fare. Her husband believed in economy 
and did not waste his money on unnecessary enjoyments. 
Her dying bed was not distinguished for its comfort. 
Her eyes, up to their last look, saw only the rough side 




(precept anb (practice 


208 


of life. No sooner were they closed, however, than new 
ideas possessed the man who for years had looked into 
them, without seeing their weariness and longing ; ideas 
of propriety ; of the respect due the dead ; of the de¬ 
mands of society, etc. A fashionable undertaker was 
summoned and had his orders. The funeral must be 
equal to that of Hon. Mr. So-and-so—a political associate 
of the bereaved husband, who died last year. There must 
be as many carriages and as much money spent. So it 
happens that the husband, who probably had not given 
his wife a ride for thirty years, gave four times thirty 
people—many of whom he does not know—a free trip to 
a fashionable cemetery and back, spending at the same 
time more money in black gloves, crape, etc., than his 
wife spent for ornaments in all her married life.” 

There have been men and women, too, 
whose affections were transferred from the 
partners of their bosom while living on idols 
of their sordid hearts, such as Dickens describes 
in his “ Christmas Carol 

“Again Scrooge saw himself. He was older now ; a 
man in the prime of life. His face had not the harsh and 
rigid lines of later years ; but it had begun to wear the 
signs of care and avarice. There was an eager, greedy, 
restless motion in the eye, which showed the passion that 
had taken root, and where the shadow of the growing tree 
would fall. He sat by the side of a fair young girl in a 
morning dress. In her eyes were tears which sparkled 
in the light. ‘ It matters little, ’ she said softly, ‘ To you 
it matters very little, another idol has displaced me ; and, 
if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come, as I 




<£>arm0$eb JSepufcffree 


209 


would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve. 
The idol which has displaced me is a golden one. I have 
seen your noble aspirations fall off one by one until the 
master passion for gain engrosses your entire being. 
Our contract of marriage is an old one. It was made 
when we were both poor and content to be so, until in 
good season we could conjointly improve our worldly for¬ 
tune by our patient industry. You are changed. Your 
own feeling tells you that you are not now what you were 
then. I am the same that I once was ; you are not. 
Consequently that which promised happiness when we 
were both one in heart, promises misery only now that 
we are two. How often and how keenly I have thought 
of this, I will not say. It is enough that I have thought 
of it, and can release you. It is plain, too, that you ask 
this release. Not in words, but in a changed nature, in 
an altered spirit; in another atmosphere of life, another 
hope as its great end ; in everything that made my love 
of any worth or value in your sight. If you were free to¬ 
day with your present prospects for wealth, is it possible 
that you would choose me, a dowerless girl ? Do I not 
know that in the change that has come over you, you 
now weigh everything by gain ? And if for a moment 
you were false enough to your guiding principle of sordid 
gain, to choose me—a poor girl, do I not know that your 
regret and repentance would follow ? I know that such 
would be the result, and I release you ; although I do it 
with a full heart for the love of him you once were. You 
may (the memory of what is past half makes me hope you 
will) have pain in this. But the pain will be short. In a 
very, very brief time you will dismiss the recollection of it 
gladly as an unprofitable dream, from which it happened 
well that you awoke. May you be happy in the life you 
have chosen ! ’ ” 




210 


precept dnb (practice 


Poor Mrs. Scrooge ! In all likelihood she 
will be honored with a very expensive and 
showy funeral. What avails this post-mortem 
parade, after she has been displaced in the 
heart of her husband by a golden calf, and left 
to pine away and die in a home of unrequited 
affection ? 

I have seen children, harsh, disobedient, and 
unloving to their parents. The mother is their 
servant, a miserable drudge, in her own home. 
Hale and strong sons and daughters she has, 
who would not bring her a bucket of water or 
of coal, without being coaxed to do it, and even 
then perhaps would refuse. All her pleading 
and praying seem to be of no avail. Others 
see and denounce the unfilial conduct of these 
young people. All but themselves see the 
cruelty of such demeanor. The mother grows 
old. Surely with age their hearts will soften 
toward their best earthly friend. On the con¬ 
trary they harden. Each seems afraid of being 
burdened with her support. One such mother 
I know, poor, but honest and godly. Now a 
widow, forlorn and lonely. She has a son who 
lost his father when a boy. The mother 
worked at washing, house-cleaning, and gar¬ 
dening to support herself and child. With her 




< 15 arnt 0 $eb ^epufcffree 


211 


hard earnings she bought him food, clothing, 
and school books. By the help of the Lord 
she raised him—trained him to industrious 
habits. He now has a good situation and is in 
good circumstances. But he is ashamed of his 
honest, Christian mother. He never visits her, 
and never greets her when passing her on the 
street. Speaking of his unkind treatment, she 
weeps as if her heart would break. 

I have seen such unfeeling children give 
vent to boisterous grief at the grave of parents 
whom they treated cruelly while living. And 
many other people knew this, and thought 
what a pity that some of this regard for a 
parent was not shown earlier. After all, may 
not this kind of grief be of very little worth ? 
For in many cases it is but a selfish mummery, 
because persons can no longer use the departed 
one for their unfeeling service. 

A person of reflecting mind can find much 
food for serious meditation in walking through 
a cemetery, with whose buried ones he was 
acquainted in their lifetime. Some things 
you know about their history which you would 
rather not speak about. Others that would 
give you pleasure and them praise to relate. 




212 


(precepf <titb (practice 


Some epitaphs read well, if they only were 
true. Avowed unbelievers in life, have their 
piety and faith applauded by the chisel of the 
stone-cutter. Some who denounce the Bible 
while living have a Scripture verse on their 
monuments when dead. Others carve the 
name of 44 Our dear mother” on the marble, 
which dear mother’s life they embittered by 
their sinful conduct. Strange contradictions 
and glaring untruths one can find among the 
tombs. Many an epitaph describes the dead 
as they ought to have been, but not as they 
actually were. 

One thing we ought to bear in mind. If 
we wish to show kindness and sympathy to any 
person, now is the time to do it and not after 
they are dead. Only while living are persons 
within reach of such acts. Then they feel and 
can be cheered by kind words, friendly sym¬ 
pathy and helpful hands. A certain well- 
known author and popular preacher, whose 
works still comfort multitudes of mourners, 
and who though dead is loved and admired by 
thousands of people, once told me, in the prime 
of his life, 44 Ah, my dear brother, you have no 
idea of the anguish one feels when he must tell 
the wife of his bosom, in reply to her request 




<B<trntt$eb *5epufc0ree 


213 


for fifty cents of market money, ‘I really 
only have ten cents of money. Can’t we get 
along with that much today?’ Ministers are 
expected to be patient, and they try to be so. 
But the highest kind of piety is not callous, but 
keenly alive to the faintest breath of wrong, 
to the most trifling touch of unkindness. Be 
just, kind and true to one another when living ; 
after-death parade of affection can not atone 
for the want of it before. 




214 


(precept anb (practice 


at (££entn<$ £tme 

TWENTY- THREE 

“The Romans accounted stones and trees struck by 
lightning sacred. With as much reverence ought we to 
venerate human beings that are stricken of God and af¬ 
flicted, especially when the divine image has been thereby 
brought out and brightened in their souls.” 

HE close of summer gives us much 
food for thought. The fading, 
falling leaves of autumn teach 
lessons of our mortality, and re¬ 
vive memories of our sainted dead. 
The summer is ended. The grain has been 
garnered into barns. The corn cribs are full 
of large yellow ears. Fruit and forest trees 
look bare and bleak, like the masts of the ships 
in the harbor, whose cargo has been unloaded. 
And, as the cold storms of winter will play 
their doleful tunes through the rigging of the 
ships, so will they play, too, through the dis¬ 
mantled branches of the trees. At this season 
all the world abounds with sermons which 
preach to us gratitude for the past and hope 







fLtjjl )i <xt <£t>entng ©me 


215 


for the future. The decay and death of nature 
remind us of our own mortality, and of the 
absence of the sainted dead. To comfort the 
living and improve the lessons of the dead, it 
is wise to sum up the bereavements of the year 
and of our whole past life in a religious service, 
when our meditations and worship bear on this 
subject. 

Already in the fourth century the Church in 
the East held a festival in memory or honor of 
all martyrs. There were many festival days 
observed during the year in honor of different 
saints. At length the church had so many 
saints that there were not days enough in the 
year to hold each one separately. There¬ 
fore one day was chosen in commemoration of 
all martyrs. At first the Sunday after Whit 
Sunday was thus observed. Later, another 
festival for the dead was kept on November 
1st. The festival of “ All souls” was observed 
on November 2d. These festivals were first 
observed in the Roman Catholic Church, 
and came to be connected with certain unscrip- 
tural practices. Since the Reformation the 
Reformed and Lutheran churches have here 
and there observed the last named festival, un¬ 
der the name of ‘ ‘ Todenfest.’ ’ For, like some 




216 


(precept dub (practice 


other practices of the Roman church, it was 
found that, reformed of its abuses, the right 
observance of this festival of ‘ ‘ All souls” could 
be improved for the comfort and edifying of 
surviving friends. Thus the ingathering of the 
natural harvest and the ingathering of saints 
into heaven are commemorated in the autumn 
—the latter usually on the Sunday before the 
first Sunday in Advent. 

The aged saint cometh to his u grave in 
full age like a shock of corn cometh in his 
season.” (Job 5:26). “He brings forth fruit in 
old age.” And when he is gathered home, 
“his works do follow him.” The closing life 
of such a one is peaceful ; calm as the setting 
sun. Beautiful is the repose of age, leaning 
on the strong arm of God. “ Even to old age 
I am he, and to hoary hairs will I carry you.” 
Thus aged saints can comfort themselves as 
they calmly wait for the promised rest. And 
those who mourn the death of pious aged 
parents or friends, can comfort themselves 
with the assurance that after their long and 
wearisome journey they have reached home at 
last. Thus the death of the child of God, of 
every age, is the reaping after a sowing; the 
rest after the weary work of life’s long day ; 




&tg#f <xt (St>cntng £tme 


217 


the calm after life’s buffetings and conflicts; 
the victory afterlife’s “good fight reaching 
home at last, after life’s dreary pilgrimage. 

In any form, the memory of the departed 
brings some sorrow with it. The anniversary of 
their death and burial calls up sad memories. 
The soul, greatly stricken, receives a certain ele¬ 
ment of awe from the stroke. In the moun¬ 
tains of Southern Europe, the Alps and the 
Apennines, the spot where a murder has been 
committed is marked with a cross. The earth 
that receives the blood of a murdered mortal 
thereby becomes sacred. All thoughtful people 
have a certain feeling of awe in the presence 
of a sorrow-stricken fellow being. There are 
times when words fail us. We simply fold our 
hands and prayerfully weep with the sorrow¬ 
ing, as did our Saviour at Bethany. 

“ Every road leads toward the world’s end.” 
No matter whether it starts from the tent of a 
savage or the throne of an empire, every mor¬ 
tal life tends toward a little spot of earth 
called a grave. There its mortal part is sure 
to land and lie. In a certain sense the grave 
is a point between two eternities—an eternal 
past and an eternal future. Around it cluster 
the great questions of the soul—of all souls. 




218 


(precept <tnb practice 


Of the souls of Mary and Martha, and of Rob¬ 
ert Ingersoll. To the tearful questions of the 
sisters of Bethany our Saviour answers : “ I 
am the resurrection and the life; he that be- 
lieveth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall 
he live.” The questions of Ingersoll, at the 
grave of his brother, revive only the echoes of 
his scholarly vaporings in answer. He, too, 
believes that u it is appointed unto man once 
to die,” but the other clause of the sentence— 
“and after that the judgment,” he ridicules. 
Well, we shall see by and by. 

Paul sympathized with the mournful sigh- 
ings of bereaved hearts. Some of the Thessa- 
lonians sorrowed hopelessly around the graves 
of the departed. So did heathen people then ; 
so do heathen people now. They tore their 
garments and their hair ; they howled and 
paid others to help them them to howl. Not 
thus hopelessly should Christians mourn. The 
sainted dead are to us only like friends calmly 
asleep after a hard, long, and tiresome day’s 
work. Their death is not an extinction of 
life, but a passing over into rest—the “rest 
remaining for the people of God.” For them 




&tc$t <xi (Btfentng £tme 


219 


“ There is no death ; what seems so is transition ; 
This life of mortal breath 
Is but a suburb of the life Elysian, 

Whose portals we call death.” 

This hope we have not by nature , but by 
grace. Christ is our life. Without Him we 
have no life in us. “ Except ye abide in me, 
and I in you, ye have no life in you.” “As 
the branch is united with the vine” so are 
believers united with Christ, who is formed 
in them, “the hope of glory.” The life of 
grace must start in this world. It is not a 
change wrought by death, or in some future 
purgatory. “He that believeth in me hath 
everlasting life. ’’ It begins with regeneration. 
Thereafter through life, the child of God, by 
repentance, faith, the devout use of the sacra¬ 
ments and prayer, and by a patient continu¬ 
ance in well-doing cultivates and promotes 
growth in the divine eternal life. 

This life of faith is continuous. Its streams 
never dry up. Its light never expires, but 
shines brighter and brighter to the perfect day. 
Death cannot take God’s true child unawares. 
He that worketh the work of God has no “ off 
days.” Our spiritual life does not always 
advance with equal rapidity. It is like a 




220 


(precept dnb (practice 


mountain stream that worms and worries its 
way along the winding gorges, and through 
the clefts of opposing rocks. Temptations 
and opposing forces cause a seeming stoppage ; 
but in reality they only deepen and strengthen 
the current, and help it to gather force to over¬ 
come in the end. Sickness and sorrow 
strengthen the ties that bind us to Christ. 
Age and infirmity but draw us nearer to the 
heart of God. The feebler and frailer the fail¬ 
ing body, the more brightly the light of grace 
will shine into the soul. An old decaying 
dwelling with the shingles and the weather¬ 
boarding covered with cracks and crevices, lets 
the light and warmth of the sun through the 
same holes that admit the cold. Thus : 

“ The soul’s frail cottage, shattered and decayed, 

Tets in new light through chinks that time hath made.” 

The life of grace is progressive. Like the 
life of a tree, each year’s growth is an advance 
on the preceding. In the gracious life of the 
believer, every succeeding stage of devotional, 
ritual, and sacramental experience is an on¬ 
ward and upward step. Baptism, confirma¬ 
tion, and the Lord’s Supper lift the soul up¬ 
ward. Kvery conflict and every devotion de- 




<xi (Bwntttg £tme 


221 


velops and strengthens the divine life. Even 
death is a step in advance ; an upward move. 
The resurrection is a gracious victory. Each 
is a promotion in the institution of grace. 

To the weak in faith death seems a defeat, a 
sad failure. The body, once so active and 
comely, is now so unattractive, helpless and 
cold. Still, its active force has only stepped 
into a higher sphere ; it has been graduated 
into a celestial department. The cage only is 
left while the bird has soared to higher worlds ; 
the tent is left, but the tenant has moved into 
other quarters. Death does not destroy the 
identity of saints. As they were to us while 
in the body, so shall they be to us out of the 
body. A passing from earth to heaven does 
not sever the ties that bind them to us. As 
all the nerves of the body centre in the brain, 
so the lives of all believers centre in Christ. 
By the power of the Holy Ghost our being be¬ 
comes as nerves in His person, which vibrate 
the pure life that throbs within Him through 
us. The saints on earth and saints in heaven 
touch and commune in Him. 

In Jesus Christ heaven and earth are brought 
into closest sympathy . All the days of His life 
in the flesh, the messengers of the heavenly 




222 


(precept attb (practice 


world were His holy guard. Angels announced 
His conception, heralded His birth, brought 
mortals in adoration to His cradle, guided the 
divine Babe to Egypt and to Nazareth. Angels 
were with Him in His temptation in the wil¬ 
derness, and in His tribulation in the garden, 
and angels stood guard at His grave. Re¬ 
peated voices from heaven, at His baptism and 
transfiguration, showed how He brought heav¬ 
enly powers with Him down to earth, that he 
might lift His children to heaven. Thus, 
while he lived on earth He had His being in 
heaven, too. 

“ O, wondrous truth to fabling fiction given 

Of One that walked on earth and had His head in heaven, 

Whose stature is eternity, 

His crown the living sky.” 

What a blessed ground of hope and comfort 
the Christian has ! In proportion to the sin¬ 
cerity and correctness of our faith shall we 
have hope in dying. “The righteous hath 
hope in his death.” Our hope and guarantee 
of a happy future solely depends on our union 
with Christ. 

Pythagoras was one of the wisest of ancient 
philosophers. One day he saw a man beating 
a dog. Hearing the animal howl, he begged 




rtf (Evening Zimt 


223 


the man to stop his beating, saying: “It is 
the soul of a friend of mine, whom I recognize 
by his voice.’ * Thus many of the wisest an¬ 
cient Pagans held that when a man died his 
soul entered some animal instead of going to 
be happy with God. 

The aimless, undefined longings of great 
minds out of Christ are very sad. In his old 
age Goethe said : “I am contented, I am happy. 
That I feel; and yet the whole centre of my 
joy is an overflowing yearning toward some¬ 
thing which I have not, something which my 
soul perceives dimly.” And when his wife 
died in his old age, he knelt aside of her 
corpse, saying : u Thou wilt not forsake me ? 
No ! No ! Thou must not forsake me.” 
Only this comfort he sought, and nothing more. 

Very beautiful and true is the saying of 
Chevalier Bunsen on his deathbed : “ All 

bridges that we build through life fail at such 
a time as this, and nothing remains but the 
bridge of the Saviour.” 
































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